


Secrets

by Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)



Series: Secrets and its sidestories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Bigotry & Prejudice, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Chamber of Secrets, Denial, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ethical Dilemmas, Family, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, POV Female Character, Possession, Retelling, Weasley Family, Women Being Awesome, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-17
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 155,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Culmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CoS according to Ginny.  Nobody noticed anything wrong for an entire year -- how did she slip so far from her family and friends?  Angst and betrayal, but also mysteries, jokes, an enchanted suit of armor, and a guaranteed happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second _Harry Potter_ story I wrote. I started it way back in May 2002, but I am a horribly slow writer so it has taken me eleven years and change to finish. *headdesk*
> 
> "Secrets" is a retelling of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ from Ginny Weasley's point of view, designed specifically to give her a coherent character arc, to make sense of her actions, and to put the focus of the story back where it belongs: on the person who was possessed by Tom Riddle for months and then fought him tooth and nail for several months more, rather than the person who stumbled upon the plot late in the game and beat the villain nearly by accident.
> 
> Some background information:
> 
> First, "Secrets" includes a lot of new material, since Harry paid very little attention to Ginny that year. It also includes scenes lifted nearly word-for-word from canon, though many of them are reinterpreted to point out that Harry is not a reliable narrator. I have done my best to keep everything workable within the framework of CoS, though I have twiddled a couple minor things such as the part where Rowling makes the students go to classes on Valentine's Day, even though that was a Sunday in 1992.
> 
> Second, "Secrets" contains a lot of original characters, since I needed to give Ginny classmates. It also contains some not quite fanon-standard interpretations of the diary and Ginny's possession. This is mostly because writing about a character with no agency -- no attempt or ability to make meaningful choices -- strikes me as both boring and degrading to the character in question, but it's also because I started writing before OotP was published, so I didn't know how Rowling was going to develop Ginny, nor how she was going to explain the mechanics of possession.
> 
> Third, "Secrets" is probably a slight retroactive AU, since I began writing with the assumption that Rowling would eventually deal with the prejudice against Slytherins as part of her general "prejudice is BAD" theme. The characters and situations I created are thus completely compatible with canon up through GoF, but not with the composition of the DA in OotP. (There is no way on earth you could keep Daphne Rumluck out of any anti-Umbridge rebellion, you see, particularly not if her cousin was already in it... and by OotP, there is no way my Ginny would have left Apple out.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the First: In which Ginny writes in her new diary, Harry and Ron miss the Hogwarts Express, Hermione frets, and Ginny meets two girls on the train.

Ginny Weasley cracked her right eye open and peered at the faintly lit sky outside her window. It couldn't be any later than six o'clock. She groaned, rolled over and stuffed her head under the pillow, trying to shut out the badly muffled whispers and creaks from the other bedrooms. Her brothers were horrible at keeping quiet -- not that their house gave them much help. What were they doing up before dawn anyhow? It was too early to be awake; they had to be planning something.

A crash from the kitchen, immediately followed by Mum's angry shouts at Fred and George, jolted her upright. Was her whole family up? What on earth was going on? Didn't they know this was summer?

Summer. Oh dear.

Summer was ending, today was September 1, and they were off to Hogwarts for the school year. Her first year. Ginny stared wildly around her normally clean room, which was currently filled with an untidy jumble of everything she'd meant to pack last night but hadn't gotten around to. Jumping out of bed, she started throwing clothing on the covers to fold, until she heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs towards the bathroom.

Oh no. The bathroom. Ginny froze. Four brothers, Harry, and her parents -- who knew how long they'd take washing up? And with Harry around, she couldn't possibly eat breakfast in her nightdress...

Ginny grabbed her towel and ran for the bathroom, skidding through the door just ahead of Ron, who yelled, "Ginny, you arse, I was here first!"

"I don't care!" she shouted over her shoulder, slamming the door in her brother's face. She sank down on the toilet and moaned. She was never going to be ready in time. She was going to miss the train and never get to Hogwarts and never learn to be a witch and be stuck at home all alone with Mum and Dad forever -- not that she wasn't dreadfully fond of them -- but she had to get out or she would go mad.

Why on earth hadn't anyone woken her sooner?

"Cheer up, dear," said the mirror over the sink. "Whatever you're moaning over, it can't be as bad as you think. Face it like a Weasley. Seize the day!"

"Right," mumbled Ginny. "Seize the day. Be a Weasley." She glanced at her reflection -- tangled red hair, freckles, a thin face, and tired brown eyes stared back at her. She looked a rumpled wreck. "I can't _do_ this!"

"I'd advise a shower, dear," said the mirror kindly. "You'll feel better afterwards."

"Right," Ginny said again, and turned to the bathtub, remembering just in time to lock the bathroom door.

\--------------------------------------------

The house was in an uproar all morning, with various Weasleys -- and their houseguest, Harry Potter -- crashing into each other as they ran up and down the stairs in various states of undress. Not wanting to meet Harry or her brothers in only a towel, Ginny peered carefully both ways through a crack in the bathroom door before venturing back into the hall. She dashed to her room, slammed the door, and threw on a skirt and blouse. Thank goodness Harry hadn't been in the hall. If he'd seen her...

Ginny stayed in her room for an hour, cramming all sorts of odds and ends into her trunk. She wasn't sure what she'd miss if she forgot anything -- she'd never spent more than a few days away from home -- and there was no way to fetch things until Christmas holidays. Best to bring everything. Finally she slammed the lid shut and jumped on the top a few times to make sure everything was packed as tightly as possible. Satisfied, she called Dad to take it to the car.

He dragged her trunk from the room and made a peculiar grunting wheeze as he struggled to keep it from crashing down the stairs. "What on earth have you put in here?" he asked. "I don't remember any of the boys' trunks being this heavy."

Ginny flushed. Perhaps she had overdone it a little. "Sorry, Dad," she said, and slipped past him to the kitchen.

He dropped the trunk to the floor with a bang and waved his hand airily. "That's all right, Ginny. I'm sure I can manage. A good test of ingenuity, that's all." He hoisted the trunk to his shoulder and staggered, mumbling to himself.

"You could float it, you know!" she said as he disappeared out the front door and stirred up the chickens. Why Dad wanted to do things the Muggle way was beyond her; magic was so much more convenient.

Ginny ate several slices of toast and marmalade under Mum's gimlet eye before ducking out back to the garden, carrying her new diary and a quill. She'd finished packing well ahead of schedule despite her late start, and if she didn't get away, Mum would enlist her into helping her brothers pack. She had no intention of doing any such thing.

The morning sky was brilliant blue, lightly dotted with clouds, and bumblebees droned madly as they searched for late summer flowers. Ginny skipped a bit from sheer excitement, then collected herself. She was eleven and going to Hogwarts. Skipping was babyish, and she wasn't a baby anymore, whatever Ron thought.

She walked to the pond, shooed away a gnome, and sat on the grass, glad to be out of the madhouse and away from Harry. The diary -- which she'd found stuffed inside her second-hand Transfiguration book when they returned from Diagon Alley -- rested on her lap, waiting for her to tell all her secrets. Its black cover was a bit shabby and the pages were worn, but Ginny wasn't about to look a gift diary in the face; it had been hard enough to convince Mum to accept the set of free Gilderoy Lockhart textbooks Harry had given her after the disastrous scene Lockhart, Dad, and the Malfoys had caused in Flourish and Blotts. Besides, a battered diary wasn't nearly as intimidating as a fresh one; she wasn't afraid of ruining the pages.

Ginny opened her ink bottle, dipped her quill, and tapped the feathery tip against her chin, thinking of what to say. Eventually she creased back the cover and wrote, "My name is Ginevra Weasley and I'm eleven years old. I'm a witch, I have red hair and freckles, and I have six older brothers; two of them are grown and have left home. The others are still at Hogwarts.

"Today I'm leaving for my first year at Hogwarts -- to learn to be a witch. I'm very excited, of course, but also a little nervous. My brothers have told me all sorts of stories, but I don't believe half of them, particularly the ones from Fred and George. I hope people will like me there."

She paused, wondering what else to put down, and nearly dropped her quill when her words sank into the page and vanished. Slowly, new words appeared -- words definitely not in her handwriting.

_"Hello Ginevra. My name is Tom Riddle, and I live in this diary. I'm pleased to meet you; I've been rather lonely for a while."_

Ginny stared suspiciously at the words, which were sinking and fading like hers had done. This was not what she had expected -- the diary had seemed perfectly ordinary, of Muggle make, even, but clearly it had some sort of magic. Maybe it was like a mirror or a portrait?

"Why do you live in a diary?" she wrote. "Who put you there?"

There was a long pause before the diary wrote, _"I am a memory of the person who first wrote in this diary, a long time ago. He put me here so I could listen to others and talk to them if they needed a friend. Do you mind that I'm in here?"_

Ginny laid her quill on the page and thought carefully. Did she mind that a person -- a man or boy -- was in her new diary? She couldn't very well tell it all her secrets now... but then, she'd never had much practice keeping secrets. She'd always told Ron everything, as he'd told her everything until last year, when he'd gone off to Hogwarts without her and had found new friends in Harry and Hermione. She'd missed him dreadfully but he'd barely ever written to her, despite his promises.

It would be nice to have a friend again, a special friend she could tell everything to. Nobody would need to know; she could pretend she was writing in an ordinary diary. The diary -- no, Tom; he had a name -- couldn't go away and find new friends. He couldn't tell her secrets to anyone else, since words vanished into the pages. And he seemed nice enough.

"No, I don't mind," she wrote. "Do you think we could be friends? I think I'd like that."

 _"I'd like that too, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom.

Ginny smiled. She had a new friend to make up for Ron, and maybe she could even tell him about Harry later. Maybe. He was a boy after all, and, she reminded herself, there were some things you didn't tell boys.

Suddenly Mum's voice rang through the garden. "Ginny! Come inside and help me find Ron's spare quills!"

Oh, toad guts. Ginny sighed and scribbled, "I have to go help Mum pack now. I'll talk to you later, Tom." She shut the diary without waiting for a reply and walked into the chaos of the house.

\--------------------------------------------

Two hours of insanity later, Mum herded the boys into the car, which was much larger inside than out. Ginny sighed; Dad had been tinkering again, and if Mum noticed... But Mum merely glanced at the five boys in the back seat -- Harry's black hair looking peculiar amidst all the red -- and said, "Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they? I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?" Ginny hid a grin; Mum could be so dense sometimes.

Dad fiddled with the ignition and the engine coughed to life. As the car pulled out of the yard, Ginny turned to look at her house for the last time until winter holidays. The Burrow was a shabby, higgledy-piggledy mess, but it was a familiar mess. She stared at her window as they turned into the lane.

"Damn!" said George suddenly. "I forgot my Filibuster fireworks. Dad, can we go back and get them?"

"Absolutely not. You shouldn't have them in the first place," said Mum. "And watch your language!"

"Now, Molly, let the boy have some fun," said Dad cajolingly, and he pulled back into the yard. George dashed in and out of the house in three minutes, carrying a large box with him.

Mum shot the boys a stern look and said, "Has anyone else forgotten anything? I don't want to come back here again." They shook their heads, and Dad trundled the car off again.

This time they were halfway down the lane when Fred slapped his forehead and groaned. "Er, Mum, I left my broomstick in the kitchen. Sorry." He gave her a rather sickly grin.

Mum swelled but said only, "Arthur, turn around." Dad sped back to the house and Fred ran from the car, almost wrenching the door off in his hurry. Ron, Harry and George snickered in the back seat. Percy sat in dignified silence.

"This isn't funny!" said Mum fiercely. "If we have to come back here one more time, for any of your nonsense, you _will_ regret it." The snickers stopped. Ginny grinned again; her brothers were such idiots. She felt a bit sorry for Harry, though.

Fred burst out of the house, threw his broom in the trunk, and slid back into the car. They drove off again, and Ginny idly watched the green countryside roll by. She'd have to tell Tom all about Fred and George, and how dense they were not to pack everything beforehand. They knew how Mum was, didn't they? She reached into her handbag to check on the diary.

It wasn't there.

Ginny bit her lip. Had she put it in her trunk? No, Dad had already put that in the car. Had she given it to anyone else? No, of course not. Had she left it in the house? She closed her eyes and thought hard. She had come in from the garden, set the book, quill and ink on the kitchen table, and gone to help Mum look for Ron's quills -- and she'd not gone back to the kitchen at all.

"Aah!" she cried, and Mum jumped. "We have to go back! I left my diary."

"Ginny! Not you, too," said Mum. "We haven't time."

"But I need it! It's my _diary_." She gave Mum a pleading look and hoped she'd understand. Hadn't she ever had a diary?

Apparently she had, since she let Dad turn the car around a third time. Ginny dashed into the house, scooped the diary off the kitchen table, and clambered back into the car. By that point everyone was in a foul mood, and Mum was dangerously close to exploding over wasted time. Ginny was sure they'd miss the train and everyone would blame her, which wasn't really fair since the twins were at least as much at fault as she was; but everyone expected them to be trouble, so no one would notice them especially.

Dad was also worried about the time, enough to suggest flying the car. He glanced nervously at Mum. "Molly, dear--" he said.

" _No_ , Arthur--"

"No one would see -- this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed -- that'd get us up in the air -- then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser--"

"I said _no_ , Arthur, not in broad daylight." Mum folded her arms and glared at Dad, ending the conversation. He drove the rest of the way in silence.

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven, and Dad parked the car on a side road before hurrying off to get trolleys while Mum oversaw the unloading of trunks and owl cages. The boys shoved everything onto the trolleys as fast as possible and everyone raced into the station, charging past Muggles who shot the family strange looks. It was the owls, Ginny was sure, or the fact that Dad had no idea what proper Muggle clothes should be. But they ran so fast no one had time to ask them any difficult questions.

Ginny was completely out of breath when they reached the barrier between platforms nine and ten -- the entrance to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express was getting ready to leave. "Percy first," said Mum, looking nervously at the clock. They had five minutes to get on the train. They were going to miss it. Ginny could feel it.

Percy strode forward, stiff as always, and vanished through the barrier. Dad went next, followed by Fred and George. Mum grabbed Ginny's hand -- Ginny squirmed, looking at her feet -- and turned to Ron and Harry.

"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," she said, and dragged Ginny through the barrier. Left with only one free hand to manage her things, Ginny barely stopped the trolley from slewing sideways and attacking a large crowd of older boys walking toward the train just on the other side of the barrier. She flushed and yanked her other hand from Mum's as they hurried toward the train.

Mum teared up. "Oh, I'm going to miss you, Ginny," she said. "Mind you be good -- pay attention to your brothers -- and don't you follow Fred and George's example." They reached the train, and she fussed over Ginny's hair, tucking it behind her ears so it fell neatly down her back.

Ginny jerked away. "Mum!"

Mum sighed. "I suppose you are getting a bit old for that. Off to Hogwarts. Well, hurry up! You don't want to miss the train!"

After looking in vain for Dad or the boys -- "Always underfoot, but where are they when you need them?" Mum asked -- Mum helped Ginny hoist her trunk onto the floor of the train. "You can manage from here?"

Ginny nodded.

Mum looked as though she wanted to say more, but the train gave a great jerk and began pulling slowly from the platform. "Goodbye, dear. Your father and I love you very much. And do keep an eye on your brothers!" she said hurriedly.

Ginny nodded again and began dragging her trunk along the corridor in the train, looking for Ron and Harry. When she glanced out a nearby window, the station was already fading in the distance. Mum and Dad were gone. She resolved to write home as soon as possible, and continued along the corridor.

Ginny had nearly reached the end of the train before she spotted a familiar face. Hermione Granger -- Ron and Harry's friend, whom she'd met briefly in Diagon Alley -- stuck her head out of a compartment and said, "Ginny! Have you seen Harry or Ron?"

"No. Aren't they with you?" asked Ginny.

Hermione looked worried. "No, I haven't seen them. I thought they were probably up front, or had stopped to get you settled, or perhaps to talk to the twins," she said. "Neville and I were going to look for them if they didn't come in ten minutes."

A round-faced boy peered around Hermione's bushy brown hair and nodded. He seemed pleasant and harmless; Ginny smiled at him. "They were right behind me and Mum coming onto the platform. We were late, and rushing, so I didn't see where they got onto the train."

"Ah. They must be up front, then," said Hermione, settling back into her seat. "Would you like us to help you introduce yourself to other first years while we wait for the boys? You can leave your trunk in here if you'd like."

Ginny looked at her feet. "Erm. I was hoping I could sit with you, actually. I don't know anyone, you see, and--"

"Oh, nonsense! I didn't know anyone when I got on the train either, and Harry and Ron certainly didn't know each other," said Hermione sharply. "The train is for meeting other students. Why else do you think we take such a great long ride when the school could just as easily organize scheduled Floo trips into Hogsmeade? We'll just put your trunk out of the way and be off. We'll move forward and look for the boys as we go." Hermione stood and started pulling Ginny's trunk into the compartment; after a few seconds, Neville stood and helped them hoist it on top of Hermione's luggage.

In short order Ginny found herself propelled along the corridor toward the front of the train, with brief pauses for introductions to various Hogwarts students Hermione knew, and occasional stops at compartments filled with first years. Ginny flushed, watched her feet, and mumbled her name when Hermione prodded her. Names and faces slid straight through her mind in a haze of mortification.

Where were Ron and Harry and why were they letting Hermione humiliate her like this? Nobody would take her seriously now. They would all laugh at her.

They hurried past Fred and George's compartment, interrupting the twins' friend Lee Jordan near the end of a complicated and off-color story. The twins hadn't seen Harry and Ron since they reached the platform, but they didn't see much reason to worry.

"If they missed the train, Mum and Dad will take care of it," said Fred dismissively.

"After Mum throws a fit, of course," added George, "but that's nothing new."

Hermione sniffed and rushed Ginny off, further up the train. "Idiots," she said. "I'm sure we'll find them soon. Perhaps they're with Percy and the other prefects." But they reached the prefects' compartments at the very front of the train without any sign of the boys.

Percy himself was extremely unhelpful. "No, I haven't seen them, and it wouldn't surprise me in the least to learn they had managed to miss the train," he said with a sniff. "Terribly irresponsible, the pair of them." He turned back to his book; it was a dreadfully boring one about former Hogwarts prefects and their political ambitions, which he'd bought in Diagon Alley before the disaster with the Malfoys.

Hermione yanked Ginny away and strode back down the corridor, muttering to herself. "Irresponsible? I'll show him irresponsible, I will. Big-headed prat. This is his brother and Harry -- doesn't he have any concern? And after last year? Ha. I'll teach him to call my friends irresponsible--"

At this, Ginny felt she had to speak out. "But Ron says you always call them irresponsible. Don't you?"

"Yes, but they're _my_ friends."

Ginny hid a small grin. "Very logical."

Hermione spun and glared at Ginny. "Oh, don't you start, too," she snapped. "I'm allowed to be illogical sometimes! I'm not a machine."

"Of course."

Hermione sniffed and hurried back to her compartment. Ginny trailed after her.

"We didn't find them," Hermione announced to Neville as she flung open the compartment door. "I don't think they're on the train at all. Nobody's seen them since they came through the barrier." She sank into a seat and bit her lip, looking deeply worried.

Ginny felt somewhat cruel about giving her more bad news, but she ploughed ahead. "Actually, I don't think anyone even saw them come through the barrier. They were behind Mum and me, and we didn't have time to look for them." She shifted her feet. "Do you think something's... happened to them? Something like last year? It was odd that a house-elf stopped Harry's post all summer and warned him not to go to Hogwarts."

Neville gasped. "A house-elf stopped Harry's post? But house-elves don't do that."

Hermione glared at him. "What, and house-elves can't be ordered to do something unusual? Or they can't have minds of their own?"

Neville shrank back -- Hermione was rather intimidating, and he didn't seem overly brave. Ginny smiled encouragingly at him and he gave her a tiny nod.

"Anyway," continued Hermione, "I doubt this has any connection to the house-elf. That was probably Malfoy having a bit of... of fun. Ron and Harry were most likely talking and came through the barrier too late to catch the train. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will bring them up to Hogwarts."

"But what if something did happen?" asked Ginny, rubbing her arms. "Ron says things always happen to Harry..."

Hermione bit her lip again, then seemed to come to a decision. She patted Ginny on the shoulder. "I'm sure your parents will take care of things. They'll show up and we'll all laugh about this after the Sorting," she said briskly.

"Now, why don't you go find some other first years? You can't spend all your time with Harry, Ron and me, you know. You can come back here to change when we get closer to Hogwarts." Hermione nudged Ginny into the corridor and closed the compartment door firmly behind her. Neville glanced out through the glass and shrugged apologetically, but made no move to oppose Hermione. Ginny didn't blame him.

She wandered along the corridor, unsure of what to do. Percy would be no help today; he'd vanished into his prefect mask. Perhaps she could find Fred and George? No, they would only laugh and tell her to pester someone else. She was on her own.

Ginny leaned against the corridor wall. She had never truly been alone before. Even when Mum and Dad were away, one or another of her brothers was always around to lend a hand or a smile and let her hang around. She felt very small. Laughter and conversation leaked from the compartments and swirled around her, but she wasn't part of any of it.

She rubbed her hands over her eyes and slid down the wall until she sat huddled on the floor, which was slightly sticky from the residue of years of lost sweets and forgotten candy wrappers. Ginny drew her legs in, wrapping herself into as small a space as possible.

Ron and Harry had vanished. Hermione had pushed her away. She was alone.

\--------------------------------------------

Afterwards, Ginny was never sure exactly how long she'd stayed in a heap on the floor before she thought of her diary. She pulled it out and rooted through her bag for ink and a quill. Her only quill was much the worse for wear, but the nib was intact. She looked at the diary and grinned. She wasn't really alone.

"Dear Tom," she wrote, "hello again! I'm on the Hogwarts Express, but my brother Ron and his friend Harry have gone missing -- they're not on the train and I'm worried for them."

She waited impatiently for Tom to write back, to prove she hadn't imagined the events in the garden. Eventually ink swam up through the page. _"Hello, Ginevra. I'm sorry to hear about your brother and his friend. Did they disappear from the train, or did they simply not board it?"_

"We think they didn't board -- we were late."

_"Ah. Then I'm certain your parents -- you came to King's Cross with your parents, right? -- will take care of them."_

Ginny bit her lip. Tom was probably right, but this was Harry Potter... She dipped her quill again and wrote, "You're right, but I can't help worrying. You see, Harry is, well, special, and things have a way of happening to him. He survived the Killing Curse when he was a baby and just last year he faced You-Know-Who at Hogwarts. And this summer a house-elf stopped his mail and told him he'd die if he went back to school!"

There was a long pause before Tom responded. _"I understand your concern,"_ he wrote. _"However, I think this is most likely a case of bad luck and unfortunate timing. May I ask, though, who You-Know-Who is, as I certainly don't know?"_

"He was a dark wizard; I don't want to say his name. He's been gone for years, since Harry defeated him when he was a baby, but I'm afraid he might come back like last year. Everyone's afraid of him."

_"Ginevra -- you don't have to say his name; you only have to write it. Surely that won't hurt?"_

Ginny flushed. She could almost see Tom laughing at her, though she had no idea how he looked, and she couldn't argue with his logic. "His name is Voldemort," she wrote slowly.

There was a very long pause.

_"Ah. I believe I heard of him the last time someone wrote in here, which was many years ago, but I seem to have missed his rise and fall. Sometime, I must ask you to catch me up on the events of the last several decades. Nevertheless, I'm sure your brother and his friend will be fine. After all, if Harry survived a powerful dark wizard, he can't come to much harm from a house-elf."_

Ginny considered this. It made sense. Her brothers, Hermione, and now Tom seemed certain nothing horrible would happen -- surely they couldn't all be wrong. "Thanks, Tom!" she scribbled. "I feel a lot better now. I suppose I should let you go for a while."

_"As you wish. Goodbye for now, Ginevra."_

"Bye, Tom." Ginny shut the diary, smiling, and slipped her things into her bag. She hoisted herself from the floor and walked forward along the corridor, peering into compartments in hopes of finding some fellow first years. She had hours to overcome their first impressions of her, after all.

\--------------------------------------------

Ginny passed through three carriages before she found a compartment whose occupants -- two girls, sitting side by side and chatting animatedly -- seemed both vaguely familiar and young enough to be first years. She slid the door open and said, "Hello. May I come in?"

The girls looked up; the one closer to the door smiled. "Oh, sure!" she said. "Glad to see you got away from that fright who was dragging you around. Did you ever find your brother?"

Ginny felt slightly flustered. "No, he doesn't seem to be on the train," she said. "But Mum and Dad will take care of him, so it's nothing, really. I'm Ginny Weasley. And I'm awfully sorry but I don't remember your names."

The girl smiled again. "No worries. I'm Daphne Rumluck and this is my cousin, Apple." Apple smiled but said nothing; Daphne punched her in the shoulder and continued, "We're both first years, same as you. Sit down! Stay a while!"

Ginny shut the door and perched on the seat across from the cousins. They didn't look related -- Apple was tall and skinny, with a long, thin face, dusky skin, and dark, frizzy hair plaited into a crown around her head. Daphne was short and solid, with a round face and shiny auburn curls pulled loosely back by hair-clips. They seemed fairly well-off. Their clothes were obviously high quality, their trunks were brass-bound, and they had their own animals -- an owl blinked haughtily from a brass cage in the corner, and a silver Persian cat curled elegantly in a polished carrying box. Ginny hoped the girls weren't as class-conscious as a lot of old wizarding families.

"You're both Rumlucks?" she asked tentatively. "I think I've heard the name. Does one of your fathers work for the Ministry?"

"Yes, Apple's dad -- he's some big muckety-muck in the Department of Magical Transportation," said Daphne. "It's a dreadfully boring job if you ask me, but he seems to like it." She grimaced. "All our family's dreadfully boring, actually. Wonderful people, but unspeakably dull -- except for Apple, here, and our cousin Alexandria. She's dead cool."

Ginny looked at Daphne curiously. "They're all dull? I wish my family were dull. I have six brothers and they're all mad -- well, except for Percy, who _is_ a bit dull, particularly since he was made prefect last year."

"Trust me, you do not want a dull family," said Daphne with a long-suffering sigh. "You'd think Apple and I were in constant danger of our lives, the way our parents go on, but we never get in _that_ much trouble. My mum always says, 'Why don't you ever _think_ before you jump into things, Daphne Delphinia? You'll never get anywhere in this world if you don't cultivate some patience. I don't know where you get your wildness from -- not from me, certainly -- but you'll never fit into Hufflepuff if you continue down this path.' It's embarrassing, really."

"Hufflepuff?"

Daphne waved her hand airily and said, "Oh, all our family's been Hufflepuffs for ages -- they're all nice and dull, aren't they? They're ever so proud of Apple, absolutely certain she'll lead Hufflepuff to academic victory over Ravenclaw, but they've washed their hands of me. I think I horrify them." Daphne laughed. "I've no idea where I'll go, but I'm sure it won't be Hufflepuff!"

Ginny looked curiously at Apple. "So you'll be in Hufflepuff?"

Apple shrugged and spoke for the first time. "Perhaps. I wouldn't mind. But all the houses have their advantages, and I expect I'll be happy enough wherever I'm placed."

"Ha! Typical Ravenclaw, if I ever heard one." Daphne grinned and punched her cousin's shoulder again. "No, she's no Hufflepuff, whatever the family thinks. Who planned all our adventures, I ask? Who read all the textbooks with a month to spare before school? Who writes poetry in her spare time? Who named her owl _Brunhilde_ , for goodness's sake? You're doomed to Ravenclaw."

Ginny sighed.

"Why so glum?" asked Daphne.

"Oh, nothing," said Ginny. "I'm sure I'll be in Gryffindor -- everyone in my family has been -- but I don't know if I belong there. I don't feel particularly brave. And my family's, er, a bit hard to live up to."

"Oh, yeah, the Weasleys. Our cousin Alexandria -- the one who's dead cool -- works with your brother Charlie in Romania, you know, so we've heard all about your family. I can't wait to meet those twin brothers of yours, myself." Daphne grinned and rubbed her hands.

Ginny groaned. "Whatever house you're in, I hope I'm not. Fred and George are bad enough without getting apprentices."

Apple, who had been sitting quietly with a small smile, leaned over and whispered into her cousin's ear. Daphne burst out laughing. "Ha!" she cried. "You think I can't? Give me two weeks and we'll see how it goes."

"How what goes?" asked Ginny, worried. If Daphne were anything like Fred and George, this could be dangerous at best.

Daphne waved her hand. "Oh, nothing important," she said. "Just a cousin thing. Don't you worry."

Ginny turned to Apple. "What did you say to her? It's not nice to keep secrets."

Apple smiled and shrugged. "Sorry. If Daphne's as talented as she thinks she is, two weeks will reveal all. But it really isn't important." She glanced at Daphne and changed the subject. "You seem certain you'll be in Gryffindor. Do you want to be?"

Ginny paused before answering. It was obvious Apple and Daphne were shutting her out, just like Ron had shut her out since Harry had come to the Burrow. But they didn't seem malicious, only a bit tactless. It couldn't hurt to answer. She just wouldn't say anything personal. She could save that for Tom.

"Yes, I do want to be in Gryffindor," she said. "I don't think I'd fit very well anywhere else, and I'd be lonely without my brothers. Last year was just awful." She hesitated. "And Ron's told me so much about Hogwarts and Gryffindor that I feel I've already been there. All about his friends--"

"Oh!" interrupted Daphne. "That's right, your brother is Harry Potter's friend. Wow. Have you met him? What's he like? Does he really have a scar?" She bounced on her seat. Apple sighed and pulled a book from her trunk, pointedly ignoring her cousin.

Ginny flinched. She didn't want to talk about Harry; that was personal. But she couldn't avoid talking about him without explaining everything to Daphne. She sighed. "Well -- he stayed with my family the past few weeks. Ron talked Fred and George into rescuing him from his Muggle relatives. Mum was furious, but they wheedled her out of it; they always do." She grimaced and shrugged. "Boys."

Daphne laughed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know. You would not _believe_ my brother Aurelius. But what about Harry Potter?"

"Oh, he's all right," said Ginny, choosing her words carefully. "He's kind of short and skinny, but he's not horrible-looking. He's got black hair and green eyes, he wears glasses, and all his clothes are too big for him. He's pretty normal, really. And yes, he has a scar. It's like lightning, right on his forehead. You can see it when his hair gets mussed."

"Wow," said Daphne, rocking back and forth. "Imagine, he got that scar defeating You-Know-Who when he was just a baby. And we're going to school with him -- that's so cool! I can't believe you met him. I'd _die_ if I had to talk to him."

Apple glared at her over her book and said, rather sharply, "You would not. You'd badger him to death with all your questions." She clicked her tongue. "It's foolish to look up to him, if you ask me. I doubt he remembers what happened that night, and nobody knows why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named couldn't kill him. I should think he'd be mortified by your hero-worship if he met you. And if he weren't mortified, I shouldn't think very highly of him at all."

Daphne grinned. "Spot on as always, Apple. What would I do without you?"

"I shudder to think," said Apple, and retreated to her book.

Daphne turned back to Ginny. "Well, would he be mortified by my hero-worship, Ginny?" she asked. "You've met him, after all."

Ginny flushed. Of course he would. He was mortified by her own hero-worship. She felt raw after Apple's lecture, though it hadn't been directed at her.

"Yes, he would," she said. She folded her arms and stared out the window at the passing countryside, which looked heavy and dull under the cloudy sky. He would be mortified -- and she liked him even more because of it. Oh dear. If she were in Gryffindor, she would have to see Harry all year. Not that seeing him was a bad thing, but what if he saw her seeing him? But she didn't want to be in another house where she wouldn't see him...

"Bother," muttered Ginny. "Bother, bother, bother."

"Bother what?" asked Daphne.

Ginny looked up, startled. "Nothing."

"Nothing? I don't believe you."

"It's nothing," said Ginny firmly. If everyone else could have secrets, she could have secrets too.

The three girls sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before a witch arrived pushing a cart full of sweets. Daphne sprang up and bought far too much candy for her health, which she insisted on sharing with Ginny after Apple refused all but two Chocolate Frogs. Ginny protested feebly, mentioning the sandwiches in her bag, but Daphne would hear no excuses. Over chocolate, she began talking about Hogwarts, trying to sort through the stories her family had told her. Ginny shared a few of the more outrageous lies her brothers had tried to feed her, and the two girls passed the rest of the journey laughing and chatting happily about anything and everything.

Daphne even went so far as to haul her cat out of the carrying case and let Ginny tease him with the wrapper from a Chocolate Frog. Ginny was delighted; she'd always wanted a cat but the family couldn't afford any animal that wasn't useful. Apple unbent slightly when the cat knocked aside her book and curled into her lap, and she proved to have a dry sense of humor when not shooting disapproving glares at her cousin.

Ginny was rather sorry when Hermione opened the compartment door and dragged her away to change her robes. Apple was a shoo-in for Ravenclaw, but Daphne was a lot of fun. Ginny hoped her new friend would be in Gryffindor with her.


	2. Unpleasant Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Second: In which we arrive at Hogwarts, watch the Sorting, and finally reach the end of the day.

As soon as she'd slipped into her black school robes -- which were, despite Mum's best efforts, somewhat frayed around the cuffs -- Ginny called goodbye to Hermione and dashed back along the corridor, narrowly avoiding collisions with several other students and the witch with the sweet cart. She swung into Daphne and Apple's compartment and collapsed onto the seat, flushed and panting.

"It's a madhouse out there," she said. "And we won't reach Hogsmeade for nearly a quarter hour yet."

Apple shrugged. "Strange are the ways of Hogwarts students, but ours not to reason why. We just go where we're told."

"So you say." Daphne nudged her cousin and grinned. " _That_ attitude won't last long, if I know you half as well as I think I do." Turning to Ginny, she said, "D'you know how we get to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade? My parents said something about a lake but they've also mentioned carriages -- and I've never heard of a carriage that floated!"

Ginny giggled. "That would be awfully leaky, wouldn't it? I think it's boats for first years and carriages for everyone else. The idea is to keep us busy so they can have everything set up for the Sorting before we get there, but Fred and George say first years always end up waiting anyhow so it's sort of pointless."

"Huh. Probably just a tradition, then. Traditions don't need reasons, after all."

"Oh, but there is a reason," Apple said suddenly, her black eyes glinting. "Don't you remember, Daphne? A giant squid lives in the Hogwarts lake and they float us across as an offering -- if the squid wants a meal it eats a student, thereby sealing the year with good luck. There are loads of ancient rituals like that, designed to invoke the power and goodwill of guardian spirits. It's very primitive magic, but quite effective. That's why they keep up the tradition."

Daphne clasped her hands and nodded solemnly. "Quite true. Yes, I'd forgotten about the sacrifice. I'm sure the squid hasn't eaten anyone in a good while, though -- do you suppose that explains the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?"

"Oh, doubtless," agreed Apple. "Perhaps that can be remedied this year."

Ginny stared at them in disbelief. The rational part of her mind screamed at her to think of Fred and George -- and to remember that Dad worked at the Ministry and for God's sake she'd know if anything like that were true -- but Apple sounded so matter-of-fact... "You can't be serious," she said.

Apple shook her head and said, "Oh, deadly serious. One should never lie about dangerous magical rituals, you know." She sighed. "You've no reason to worry, of course -- it's only Muggle-borns who're taken -- they'd never be able to hush it up if any old wizarding families were... interfered with."

"You're having me on, I know you are," Ginny said accusingly.

Apple grinned rather guiltily and said, "Yes, but the expression on your face!" Daphne burst out laughing, no longer able to restrain herself.

"Hmph." Ginny folded her arms and glared at the cousins.

Daphne appeared to be collecting herself for an apology when a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

The three girls looked at each other. "Should we do anything to get ready?" Ginny asked.

"There are hoards of people in the corridor," said Daphne, pressing her face against the glass of the compartment door. "Perhaps we're meant to wait out there."

Apple clicked her tongue. "That's silly. We'll stay here -- it's much more comfortable to wait sitting down. We can leave once the crowd clears out a bit."

"Good idea," said Daphne, sliding back into her seat.

The train gradually slowed and slid to a halt in a puff of steam and a piercing squeal of brakes. People pushed their way through the corridor to the exits, shoving and shouting as they collided and tripped on each other's robes. The girls waited a minute or two -- Daphne laughing at the squashed students, Apple calmly checking the locks on her trunk, and Ginny fiddling nervously with the cuffs of her robes -- before leaving the compartment and stepping out onto a tiny, dark platform.

Ginny shivered in the cool night air, looking around for Hagrid, the groundskeeper, whom her brothers had told her would take care of the first years. After a few seconds, she spotted a lantern bobbing high over the students at the far end of the platform. "I think we go over there," she said, pointing.

The girls shoved their way toward the lantern, their path progressively less crowded as they neared the end of the platform. They were soon confirmed in their choice of direction when Hagrid, who was even more gigantic and hairy than Ginny had imagined, raised his lantern still higher and called, "Firs' years! Firs' years this way. Firs' years at th' end o' th' platform." A small circle of first years huddled nervously around him, like scraggly ornamental shrubbery ringing a massive oak.

"Who is _that?_ " breathed Daphne, as they approached. "He's enormous."

"That's Hagrid, the groundskeeper," said Ginny, pleased to know the answer. "He's nothing as scary as he looks -- he's all mushy, really, Ron says -- though he has a funny idea of what creatures make good pets. Ron said he even wanted to raise a dragon!" The girls stopped just before reaching the other first years; Daphne peered curiously into the gloom off the end of the platform.

"Hmm. Perhaps we should tell him about our dragon debacle then, and ask his advice for clearing up the aftereffects," said Apple, gazing thoughtfully at Hagrid, who was moving down the platform in search of more first years, parting the students in waves as he passed.

"Hush," hissed Daphne, spinning around to glare at her cousin. "Your mum still doesn't know about that! You can't tell _anyone_."

"She won't stay in the dark forever, you know," Apple hissed back. "Alexandria said she'd tell if we didn't get it fixed in a year." She noticed Ginny listening curiously and started. "Don't say anything about anything! It's very important. And don't worry about it either -- it was months ago and nowhere near here, and I'm almost certain the dragon can't find us, not since we led it into that Confundus spell. Besides, even if it could, we'd be safe at Hogwarts."

Ginny nodded, filing the instructions and curious half-story away for consideration. The cousins were shutting her out again. She wondered what on earth had happened between them and the mysterious dragon. Perhaps Tom would have some ideas; she decided to ask him before she went to bed.

Hagrid had now succeeded in gathering the rest of the first years and was counting them, ticking them off on his huge fingers. "All here? This way, now -- mind yer feet," he boomed cheerfully, and led them off the platform and down a narrow, slippery path, intermittently lit by his swaying lantern. Ginny misjudged her footing and skidded several times, narrowly catching herself on the surrounding bushes. This was an absolutely mad way to get to Hogwarts -- couldn't the school at least have provided extra lanterns?

Suddenly they rounded one final curve and a vast, dark lake spread out before them. "An' there's Hogwarts, jus' over there," said Hagrid, waving across the lake to a massive, rambling castle. Warm light gleamed from turret and tower windows, making the dark water sparkle like stars.

"Oooh!" said Daphne. "It's beautiful." Ginny nodded, too impressed to answer properly; the reason for the mad, dark, slippery path had become quite clear.

Hogwarts was a fairy-tale castle, Ginny decided, remembering the book of Muggle stories Dad had acquired for her years ago on a raid -- a witch had charmed the illustrations to move, and had squeezed the content of seven books into one volume. She sighed happily. "I can't believe we're going to live there," she said. "It looks too grand for us. A lost princess should live there, sleeping and waiting for her prince to come and wake her. Or maybe a dragon. Not a bunch of students."

"You're a hopeless romantic, I suppose," Apple said, smiling kindly. "Ah well. Be that as it may, Hogwarts will be our home for seven years. I only hope it isn't as drafty as Aster House."

"No other castle could be as drafty as Aster House," said Daphne with a grimace. "Even if it were missing half its walls. I still say your parents should sell that rubbish heap, family seat or not."

Ginny fought a mild surge of resentment. The Weasleys were as old a family as any, but they had no grand seat, only a ramshackle cottage. "Hush," she said. "Hagrid's giving instructions."

Hagrid pointed to a tiny fleet of rowboats dragged onto the shore of the lake and said, "No more'n four to a boat. Hop in now, don' waste time. Sooner yeh get to Hogwarts, sooner yeh'll be Sorted."

Daphne rushed off to the last boat on the left, Ginny and Apple stumbling in her wake. "The left one's the best," she cried, and settled comfortably on the front bench, facing into the center of the boat. Apple climbed in carefully and sat beside her cousin; Ginny sat across from Daphne.

"Shouldn't you turn around?" Ginny asked. "You'll want to watch where we're going."

Daphne waved her hands dismissively. "No, the only thing I want to see is the giant squid and I can watch for that perfectly well facing this way. Besides, now I can talk to you."

"True," Ginny said. "I wonder why there's a squid in the lake -- they're not magical, are they?"

"Not particularly, but wizards have kept them in moats for ages," said Apple. "We used to have one at Aster House, actually, but Great-aunt Hortense turned it out and replaced it with goldfish. She said they were more cheerful, and a suitable Hufflepuff color."

Ginny giggled.

"Anyway," continued Apple, "squids were thought to be more terrifying than sharks -- it's the tentacles, I suppose. Also, unlike strictly magical creatures, they don't require the use of really strong Memory Charms if Muggles happen to see them. Though I'm sure if a Muggle saw the giant squid--"

"Excuse me," interrupted a thin voice, which sounded as if its owner hadn't spoken for a long time. "May I ride with you?" Turning, Ginny saw a skinny girl with a messy brown plait standing stiffly beside their boat -- she looked composed, but her eyes betrayed a certain amount of nerves.

"Oh, sure," said Daphne, smiling at the stranger. "Sit down! My name's Daphne, this is my cousin Apple, and this is Ginny." She waved at the two of them as she spoke their names.

The skinny girl nodded. "Thanks," she said, climbing into the boat and sitting next to Ginny. "I'm Xanthe Delaflor. I think I saw Ginny on the train. Did you find your brother?"

Ginny flushed, freshly mortified. Was that horrible search with Hermione the only thing anyone had noticed about her? "No, I didn't, but I'm sure Mum and Dad will get him up here somehow," she said.

At that point Hagrid looked around and called, "Everyone in? Let's be off, then. FORWARD." The boats gave a sickening lurch, then floated smoothly forward across the water. Xanthe looked amazed and Ginny wondered if she were Muggle-born -- surely self-propelling boats weren't that exciting. However, the other girl collected herself and silently watched the approaching castle. Apple, also silent, seemed to be thinking deeply about nothing in particular.

Ginny peered over the side of the boat. Daphne was hanging so far over the edge that her face was damp with spray and nearly underwater when the boat dipped. "Any luck?" Ginny asked.

"Nah," said Daphne. "But I think I saw a grindylow!"

"There are grindylows in the lake? That's dangerous! Are you sure it's safe to cross like this, and at night?"

"Who cares?" said Daphne, leaning an inch closer to the water; a small wave splashed water up her nose and she sneezed. She produced a handkerchief from beneath her robes, blew her nose loudly, and said, "I wonder where the squid is. Maybe it's sleeping. Do squids dream?"

Ginny shrugged.

"Apple, do squids dream?" asked Daphne.

"I don't know," said Apple, without turning. "Nobody's ever bothered to find out. Perhaps that can be your life's work. Now leave me alone; I'm thinking."

"Ravenclaw," muttered Daphne, and returned to peering downwards, trying to see into the depths of the lake. Ginny stared across the dark water, hoping to see a tentacle break the surface. Daphne delivered a running commentary on what passed under the boat, but Ginny paid little attention, lost in nervous anticipation of their arrival at the castle, and the Sorting.

\---------------------------------------------

All too soon the little fleet sailed into cavern under Hogwarts, where the boats halted at a small harbor. Hagrid led the first years up a long passageway to the front of the castle, checked again that everyone was present, and knocked on the door.

A tall, black-haired witch -- Professor McGonagall, Ginny assumed -- opened the door. She looked sternly at the gaggle of students before her.

Hagrid coughed and said, "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."

Aha, thought Ginny, I was right. "She's Head of Gryffindor," she whispered to Daphne. "Teaches Transfiguration. Very strict." Daphne nodded.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall. "You may go to the Hall now." Hagrid ducked his head and clumped off to a set of double doors on the right of the entry hall, while Professor McGonagall led the first years the other way to a small antechamber. Ginny pulled closer to Daphne.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said briskly, and rattled into an obviously well-rehearsed explanation of the houses, house points, the House Cup, and the Sorting. "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as possible while you wait," she finished. Her eyes swept disapprovingly over the crowd.

Ginny raked her fingers through her hair and folded the frayed edges of her cuffs under. Next to her, Apple dusted her robes and Xanthe tried to plaster stray wisps of hair into her plait. Daphne just grinned, despite the lake water soaking her collar and hair.

"I shall return shortly, when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Wait quietly." She swept out of the chamber, and a swell of conversation rose in her wake.

"Do you know how they Sort us?" Xanthe whispered to Ginny.

"No," said Ginny, fingering her cuffs. "My brothers told me we had to wrestle a troll, but they're a bunch of idiots. I expect there's some spell to find out what you really are inside." She realized she was fraying her cuffs more and bit her lip instead. "I'm never going to be brave enough for Gryffindor."

"Cheer up," Daphne said. "You're a Weasley. Of course you'll be in Gryffindor! Now me, I might be in a bit of trouble. I'm a Rumluck but you _know_ I'm not Hufflepuff material. I'll probably confuse the living daylights out of whatever person or contraption they have Sorting us."

She turned to Xanthe, curiosity lighting her face. "Say, where do you think you'll be? We talked on the train -- Ginny's a born Gryffindor, Apple's bound to be a Ravenclaw, and I'm all over the place -- what about you?"

"Ravenclaw," Xanthe said, perhaps a shade too firmly; she looked much more uncertain than she sounded. "My mother was a Winterbourne and we've always been Ravenclaws."

Daphne nodded cheerfully. "It's a good house. Much better than Hufflepuff." She leaned forward conspiratorially and said, "I think I'll scream if I'm in Hufflepuff. I've spent my whole life with a family of Hufflepuffs, and nicer people you could not find, but duller people you couldn't find either! Gryffindors are brave and daring, Slytherins are cunning and sneaky, Ravenclaws are smart, but Hufflepuffs are just nice and hardworking. Very boring."

"That's not nice," said Ginny, surprised at Daphne's public disdain for her family's house. "You shouldn't say things like that."

Daphne shrugged. "I know. I love my family, don't I? It's true, though -- Hufflepuff is the house you get when they don't know where else to put you. You never see Hufflepuffs rise far in any field -- they're background people, the ones nobody notices because they're always there and they always do what they're supposed to do. Which is nice and reassuring, and somebody has to do it, but it's very, very dull."

Xanthe rubbed the tip of her plait between her fingers, looking, Ginny thought, very apprehensive. Was she afraid she'd be Sorted into Hufflepuff? If she was, Daphne certainly wasn't helping.

"I don't see anything wrong with Hufflepuff at all," Ginny said, trying to both reprove Daphne and distract Xanthe. "They're very nice people and there's nothing wrong with being reliable. If I don't get into Gryffindor, I wouldn't mind being a Hufflepuff. It would be ages better than Slytherin."

"What's wrong with Slytherins?" Xanthe asked.

Ginny was aghast. "They're horrid," she said firmly, waving her hands for emphasis. "Sneaky, conniving, cheating, manipulating toad-lickers. All of them." Ginny shuddered, remembering Draco Malfoy's father -- she had never felt more helpless in her life than when that man had taken her secondhand Transfiguration book and examined it as if passing judgment on her family for seven generations, and finding them to be scum. Her family was not scum. _He_ was scum. Slytherins were scum.

"Hey!" Daphne exclaimed, breaking into Ginny's thoughts. She looked hurt. "My cousin Alexandria was in Slytherin, and she's dead cool. Your brother Charlie likes her, even. I'd take Slytherin over Hufflepuff any day."

"Hush," Apple said suddenly, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the castle. "Professor McGonagall's coming."

The stern witch swept back into the room, stilling conversation. "Form a line and follow me," she said, and led the first years across the entrance hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Ginny gasped. The cavernous hall was lit by thousands of candles, floating in midair over four long tables, set with golden plates and goblets. The other students watched the first years with interest -- from the Slytherin table, where he sat sandwiched between two huge, ugly boys, Draco shot Ginny a knowing smirk; she seethed. Slimy toad-licking arse. What right did he have to look smug anyhow, after the way his father behaved?

To steady herself, she looked across the hall to the Gryffindor table. She spotted Percy, Fred, George, Hermione and Neville, but Ron and Harry were nowhere to be seen. Hermione briefly set aside her worried expression to give Ginny a wide smile, Neville sent her a tiny wave, the twins cheered, and Percy beamed in as dignified a manner as he could manage.

Despite her nerves, Ginny felt a glow of pride and gratitude warm her as Professor McGonagall led the first years to the front of the room and lined them up before the staff table, facing the rest of the school.

Professor McGonagall fetched a four-legged stool and a stained, patched, and extremely battered hat that she silently set on the stool in front of the first years. Ginny stared nervously at the hat, wondering if she would have to perform a spell on it, or if it was a symbol to show them how useless and worthless they were. How on earth could an old hat Sort anyone into anything?

Suddenly the hat twitched -- Ginny started with surprise -- and opened a tear near its base. In a thin, scratchy voice it began to recite: 

_"When you unto these hallowed stones have come_  
 _To learn and grow and spread your new-fledged wings,_  
 _You must be Sorted, each and every one,_  
 _Into four Houses, of which I now sing:_

_"In Gryffindor they value spirits brave_  
 _And valiant, whose bright courage fights for truth;_  
 _While Ravenclaw is home to those whose grave_  
 _And ruthless search for knowledge, 'spite their youth,_

_"Is endless; Hufflepuff, the house of toil_  
 _And patience, shelters mercy, love, and peace;_  
 _While wrapped in Slytherin's seductive coils_  
 _Lurk cunning, pride, ambition's choking leash._

_"For all these qualities I'll search your hearts;  
I've never yet been wrong. Step up. Let's start!"_

Heavy silence fell across the Great Hall, broken by scattered, tentative clapping. Judging by their disappointed expressions, the older students had expected something rather different. The Sorting Hat slumped and said irritably, "I would have sung something, but I have a head-cold and I can't exactly take Pepperup potion, can I? On with the show!"

Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll. "Aarons, Zephyrus," she said, and a blond, skinny boy walked forward, somewhat unsteadily, and let the hat fall over his eyes.

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted after a few seconds, and the table second from the right burst into cheers. Scattered applause rose from the other three tables as Zephyrus set the hat down and walked off to join his new housemates.

Ginny's stomach sank as she realized she would be nearly the last to be Sorted. She'd have to watch everyone join their new houses, and have all eyes directed on her at the end, wondering why she was holding everything up. And she didn't feel valiant, wise, or cunning at all. She probably _would_ end in Hufflepuff. The twins would laugh at her, Percy would sniff about a lack of proper ambition, Ron would ignore her even more than before, and Mum and Dad would be dreadfully kind and understanding and terribly disappointed.

Distracted by these uncomfortable thoughts, she missed the next several names, only coming back to herself when Professor McGonagall called, "Delaflor, Xanthe," and Xanthe twitched beside her. Ginny squeezed her hand reassuringly. Xanthe smiled tremulously and walked forward to the stool. The hat dropped over her face and she sat in silence for over a minute, hands clenched bloodless on the edges of the stool.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Sorting Hat. Xanthe slammed it back onto the stool and walked dejectedly to the Hufflepuff table, ignoring the smiles and cheers of her new housemates. Ginny tried to catch her eye and smile, but Xanthe paid no attention.

Ginny sighed. Xanthe was being very silly and self-indulgent -- and what _did_ she have against Hufflepuff anyhow? They were lovely people, always got on with Gryffindors, and the Hat had certainly made them sound better than Ravenclaw. Well, you could lead a horse to water, but you couldn't make it drink.

She watched the other first years being Sorted. Four in a row -- "Evans, Morgan," "Farthingale, Heather," "Fitzroy, Angelique," and "Gelfand, Ruth" -- went to Slytherin; Draco Malfoy looked smug. "Izushima, Yukiko," a tiny Japanese girl, went to Ravenclaw, and "Leeds, Jasper" was the first person Ginny saw go to Gryffindor. Glancing at the table, she noticed three other new Gryffindors, two girls and a boy. The girls were already whispering and giggling.

"Lovegood, Luna," went to Ravenclaw and Ginny let her mind drift, waiting for someone she knew. Finally McGonagall arrived at "Rumluck, Apple." Apple walked briskly forward, tucked her robes neatly under herself as she perched on the stool, and slid the hat over her head. The hat took a long time with her -- and judging by the twitching of Apple's hands in her lap, something was irritating her no end.

The hat seemed to be stifling laughter when it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Ginny and Daphne looked at each other in surprise -- not Ravenclaw? Apple shot them a perplexed look as she walked to the leftmost table, where Fred and George were loudly cheering the newest addition to their house.

"Well, you'll have company, at least," whispered Daphne, before hurrying forward in response to her name.

Ginny crossed her fingers as Daphne put on the hat, hoping her new friend would be in Gryffindor and that she herself wouldn't end in Hufflepuff after all, though Hufflepuff was a fine house and she was sure Xanthe was perfectly nice when she wasn't moping.

But after only a few seconds the Sorting Hat cried, "SLYTHERIN!" and Daphne hurried over to the table on the far right of the hall, whose occupants had burst into loud applause.

Draco Malfoy smiled at her. Daphne smiled back.

Ginny stared. She couldn't understand it. How could Daphne be a Slytherin? Daphne was nice and funny and interesting. She understood about brothers. She thought the giant squid was cool. She wasn't a Slytherin.

But there she sat, grinning like a fool and introducing herself to her new housemates, to the whole lot of slime. She even leaned over to shake Draco Malfoy's hand and laughed at something he said. Ginny felt a hot rush of betrayal. How could Daphne do this to her? Didn't she know what Draco was?

Maybe she was a Slytherin, after all.

Ginny spent the rest of the Sorting in a daze of hurt, anger, and a nagging sense that she had been dreadfully stupid. She didn't hear Professor McGonagall call her name, and had to be jabbed in the side by one of the three other first years still waiting. Professor McGonagall was glaring at her and Ginny was sure she heard muffled snickers from the back of the hall.

Ginny stumbled forward, horribly aware that her entire face was tomato red and violently clashing with her hair. Sliding unsteadily onto the stool, she dropped the hat over her head, eager to shut out the sight of hundreds of people staring at her.

"Another Weasley," said a small voice in her ear. "There are a lot of you, aren't there."

Ginny felt her face flame anew.

The hat chuckled. "Oh dear, you _are_ easily embarrassed. Interesting. Now let me see... intelligence, loyalty, determination -- you have quite a stubborn streak, haven't you? -- and a strong desire for others to like you. I think you'll do best--"

I'm going to Hufflepuff, aren't I? Ginny thought miserably. That was all right. Apple would stick with Daphne anyhow, and what did it matter that all her family was in Gryffindor, along with Harry, who'd never so much as noticed her except with pity and mild embarrassment, even after she'd stood up to Draco Malfoy for him in Flourish and Blotts. She could always talk to Tom instead.

"Eh?" said the hat. "Oh my. Now there's something I hadn't noticed. Fascinating. No, though you _would_ do well in Hufflepuff, you're more of a Gryffindor than you think. And if you want it that badly, I have to agree. GRYFFINDOR!" It shouted the last word to the hall.

Ginny lifted the hat off, confused. Had it been going to place her in Hufflepuff? What had changed the hat's mind? Did it simply feel sorry for her?

She walked slowly to the Gryffindor table and sat across from the twins -- next to Hermione -- leaving several empty seats between herself and the other first years. The twins leaned across the table, grinning madly.

"Great job, Ginny!" said Fred.

"We thought you'd never make it here!" said George.

They seized her hands and shook them violently. Ginny sighed, letting them flop her arms around while she found their shoes under the table. She raised her feet -- carefully maintaining their positions -- and stomped as hard as she could.

"Ow!" the twins said.

"What'd you have to do that for?" asked George, wincing elaborately.

"We're crippled for life. Is that any way to treat your brothers?" said Fred.

Hermione seemed to be stifling giggles behind her napkin. Ginny smiled at her and said, "Boys are idiots, aren't they." Hermione nodded vehemently, trembling with suppressed laughter.

"Well, we can see where we're not wanted," said Fred, and the twins turned down the table to Lee Jordan.

"So what happens now?" Ginny asked Hermione.

"Oh, now that everyone's been Sorted" -- Ginny looked up in time to watch the last first year hurry off to Ravenclaw -- "Professor Dumbledore will say a few words and then we get to eat."

Ginny looked at the staff table. Dumbledore -- a tall, thin wizard with flowing silver hair and half-moon spectacles -- rose to his feet, spread his arms, and beamed delightedly at the students. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" he said. "I'm sure you're all as hungry as I am, so I shall keep my remarks brief: In my humble opinion, fried mushrooms are a wonderful addition to any meal.

"Thank you!"

Dumbledore resumed his seat to resounding applause. Ginny looked uncertainly at Hermione. "Er, is that usual?" she asked.

Hermione smiled reassuringly. "Actually, that was much more rational than what he said last year. That time, he said he wanted to say a few words, and he did, only they were things like 'blubber' and 'oddment.' It was very peculiar. But he's quite brilliant, really, and he saved Harry's life last year.

"Now, don't you want any supper?"

Ginny blinked. The table was now piled with food -- hundreds of different dishes, many of which she'd never seen before. She helped herself to a bowl of chicken soup, several slices of bread, and small helpings of at least ten other dishes. Mindful of Mum's instructions, she was careful to take several helpings of vegetables, though she kept them quite small, particularly the sprouts.

Ginny and Hermione ate in silence for several minutes. The twins were pointedly ignoring them after Ginny's attack on their feet, Hermione still seemed worried about Harry and Ron, and Ginny's head was far too full for conversation. She couldn't make herself stop thinking about Daphne and the Sorting Hat's strange comments. It was a terribly peculiar object, really -- and it had the nerve to say it had never yet been wrong. How could it judge people anyhow? She wasn't at all sure it was trustworthy.

As she thought of that, a question occurred to her. "Did the Sorting Hat really have a head-cold?" she asked, setting her spoon on her plate and turning to Hermione. "It didn't sound ill when it was talking to me."

"No," said Hermione. "Of course it didn't have a cold -- it's a hat, how could it? It hasn't anything to have a cold _with_."

Fred, forgetting he was ignoring them, leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "It gets like that now and then -- fancies itself a poet."

"Percy said that his year, it introduced the Sorting with a bunch of haiku!" George added, snickering. "You know, 'A rose turns to sun -- As noble, clear-eyed warriors -- Turn to Gryffindor' -- and so on. I'll bet that threw the staff for a loop."

Hermione looked indignant. "The haiku is a perfectly legitimate form of poetic expression, and I think it's marvelous of the Hat to explore other lyrical forms, particularly those of other cultures. You could take lessons from it."

Ginny sighed and returned to her soup. Obviously the Sorting Hat wasn't above face-saving lies. It could have been lying for years about its skill at determining the correct house for each student. After all, people were complicated -- they didn't sort neatly into boxes.

She had a brief mental picture of perfectly rectangular people stuffed into wooden boxes, floating around the hall. How would they eat or cast spells, trapped in those boxes? She wondered what Daphne would say if she asked her that.

Daphne. Daphne who was in Slytherin. Daphne, who, come to think of it, was prejudiced towards Hufflepuff, who had laughed at the poor people tripping over each other in the train corridor, and who hadn't done a thing to comfort Xanthe before the Sorting -- who had, in fact, made Xanthe feel worse.

Ginny felt she should have known. Pushing her soup aside, she attacked a slice of roast ham, cutting it into eighteen perfectly symmetrical pieces -- she discarded the rind into her half-empty bowl. She would be more careful whom she trusted in the future. She didn't need lots of friends anyhow. She had Tom.

She couldn't wait for the feast to be over.

\---------------------------------------------

Partway through the feast, a tall, forbidding man with limp, dark hair walked up behind the Slytherins to the staff table and spoke to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall -- both of whom shortly left the hall, looking grim.

"Is it something to do with Ron and Harry?" Ginny whispered to Hermione, suddenly unable to make herself eat.

"Oh, I hope not," said Hermione. "That was Professor Snape, and he looked almost happy, which can't be good." She bit her lip. She did that a lot, thought Ginny; it was a wonder she hadn't chewed clear through it by now.

Whispers spread through the hall, starting from the Slytherin table, quickly jumping to the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and finally reaching the Gryffindors. The twins leaned back from excited conversation with a Hufflepuff girl and grinned at Ginny and Hermione.

"They flew the car---" said Fred.

"---all the way from King's Cross---" said George.

"---and crashed it into the Whomping Willow!" they finished in chorus.

"The Slytherins say they were seen by Muggles," the Hufflepuff girl added, twisting around to face the Gryffindors. "I bet they've been expelled. That's the only reason for Snape to look happy -- oooh, that was scary -- I never want to see it again!" She shivered dramatically.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione snapped. "Only Dumbledore can expel them, and he wouldn't. I'm sure it's all a big fuss over nothing."

Ginny listened to the ensuing argument with half an ear, watching the doors nervously for any sign of Harry or her brother. Her incredibly _stupid_ brother. Whatever they'd done, it had to have been his idea.

The professors reentered the hall together -- Dumbledore smiling pleasantly, Snape glowering at him, and Professor McGonagall looking ruffled. They seated themselves and proceeded to eat dessert, though Snape merely picked irritably at the custard tart Dumbledore had placed before him.

Rumors continued to spread, and by the end of dessert the general consensus was that the two boys probably hadn't been expelled -- Snape was too angry -- though judging by Professor McGonagall's expression, they were certainly in a lot of trouble. Theories ranged from detention for a year to several hundred points lost from Gryffindor before term had fairly started.

Ginny shrugged when the twins shared that rumor. Harry would win them back. He had last year.

Finally dessert was finished. Dumbledore stood again and within seconds the hall was quiet. "I have a few start-of-term notices they tell me I must give you," he said. "As always, first years should be aware that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. There are good reasons for this. Please do not attempt private research to confirm those reasons.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, wishes me to remind you that no magic should be used in the corridors between classes, nor should any banned items be brought into the school. Those wishing to scan the list of banned items may find it in Mr. Filch's office.

"Quidditch trials will be held the second week of term. Those interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch, the Flying instructor.

"I believe that covers everything of importance. Now, before we leave for our respective beds, let us sing the school song!" Despite the pained expressions of the staff -- and some distinctly audible groans from the students -- Dumbledore flicked his wand, shooting a long golden ribbon into the air where it twisted into somewhat nonsensical words. "Everyone pick a tune, and off we go!"

Caught completely by surprise, Ginny sang the first tune that came to mind -- "God Save the Queen" -- which didn't fit at all, and ran out long before she reached the end of the words. Furthermore, everyone had chosen different songs, and in the resulting din she found it nearly impossible to remember the melody at all. Beside her, Hermione was singing what sounded like "Loch Lomond," going noticeably shrill on the high notes. After a few false starts, Ginny gave up and finished the words all on one note, very quickly.

The twins, unsurprisingly, had picked a slow, quavering waltz that left them the last ones singing. Dumbledore conducted them to their conclusion and applauded vigorously. The students joined in less enthusiastically.

"Marvelous, simply marvelous," said Dumbledore, sighing happily. "And now to bed! Follow your housemates and think fondly of dessert."

Percy stood and called the Gryffindor first years to him; Ginny counted four boys and four girls -- five including herself. She hung back, not wanting to be associated with Percy. Apple shot Ginny a hurt look but made no effort to approach her as Percy led them on a torturous path through hidden doorways and up innumerable staircases until, at the end of one final corridor, they reached a portrait of an overweight woman in a vivid pink dress.

"Password?" the woman asked.

"Wattlebird," said Percy. "Remember that, all of you." The portrait swung forward, revealing a round hole in the wall. They scrambled through into a large round room full of tables and squashy armchairs. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a crowd of older students sat before it, talking. Most of Gryffindor house seemed to be waiting for Ron and Harry to appear and confirm or deny the wild rumors from the feast.

"You should get to bed immediately," said Percy, leading the way across the room. "Girls' dormitories are through this door, boys' through that one on the other side of the room -- just climb the stairs until you see 'First Years' written on a door. Your trunks and other luggage will be at the feet of your beds, though all owls have been taken to the Owlery."

Nobody moved.

"Well? Get on, then," said Percy, looking irritated.

"Er, we want to see Harry Potter," said a black-haired boy, who seemed to be partly Asian. "We want to know if it's true he flew a car to school."

"And crashed into a Whomping Willow!" added a small boy with a camera around his neck, almost bouncing with excitement.

"And got expelled, or lost us a thousand points!" said a blonde girl. "Because that's a bit of something, losing points before term starts." She grinned.

"Oh for heaven's sake," said Percy, and Ginny winced, knowing a lecture was coming. "I assure you that contrary to popular opinion, Harry Potter isn't anything special -- nor is my brother Ronald. While it's true that my family owns a car that could, technically, fly, we don't fly it, as that's in direct violation of the laws against misuse of Muggle artifacts and leans dangerously close to violating the secrecy of the wizarding world.

"Now go to bed."

But at that moment the portrait hole swung open again and people surged forward to pull two boys through -- one tall and skinny with flaming red hair, and one short and skinny with messy black hair and large, round glasses concealing brilliant green eyes. Ron and Harry.

Chaos erupted. Everyone pushed forward to congratulate Harry and Ron on their arrival, and to ask them what exactly had happened; they looked tired, but too cheerful to have suffered an excessively harsh punishment. Ginny faded back to the doorway, watching.

Percy was struggling to make his way through the crowd, bursting to lecture Ron and Harry. Harry, however, noticed Percy and winced. Ginny smiled. Harry grabbed Ron and shoved through the crowd to the door leading to the boys' dormitories, finally escaping in peace.

Ginny slipped through the doorway and up a spiral staircase to the girls' dormitories. She passed three landings before reaching a door labeled "First Years," which she pushed open. The dormitory was a circular room, obviously part of a tower, with high, narrow windows and five four-poster beds hung with red velvet curtains.

Her trunk was at the foot of the bed farthest from the door, directly under a window. She wondered which way it faced -- she had no sense of direction within the castle anymore -- but she thought it might be nice to wake with the sunrise.

She opened the window and leaned out, enjoying the crisp air. Whatever happened with Apple, no matter how horrible Daphne might turn out to be, she thought she would be all right. She could depend on her brothers, and for any times they wouldn't be any help, she had Tom, after all.

With that thought, she began to unpack her things, wanting to get organized before she wrote to him.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny was putting her clothes away when the door opened behind her and her four roommates poured noisily in. She turned to study them. Apple she already knew, but she had no notion who the others might be, not having paid attention during the Sorting or talked with them at the feast.

"Hi," said the blonde girl who had wanted to know about losing points before term started. "We haven't been introduced yet, so we thought we'd all come up together. You're Ginevra Weasley, of course -- sister of Percy the prefect, Ron who flew a car into a Whomping Willow, and probably also those mad twins.

"I'm Susan Ward -- oldest of six children and first witch in the family. I thought I'd gone 'round the twist when I got my letter, but here I am. This is the best thing that's ever happened to me -- not that that's difficult. You don't get much when your parents are always busy changing nappies." She grinned.

"I'm Jia-li Chang," said the second girl. She was very pretty, with long, straight black hair and delicate hands. "I was born in China but my family came here during the rebuilding, when I was very young. We go back, sometimes, to visit my grandparents and cousins. I have a sister, Cho; she's in Ravenclaw. I think that's everything -- I hope we can be friends."

The third girl -- tall, solid, and brown-haired -- smiled briskly at Ginny and said, "Gwyneth Davies, call me Gwen. Only child, mad for Quidditch, and my mum plays Beater for the Holyhead Harpies. I can't believe your family has a flying car -- that's brilliant!"

"And I'm Apple Rumluck. You already know me," said Apple, giving Ginny a measuring look. "Why didn't you sit with us at the feast?"

Ginny felt flustered. "I just sat with my brothers and Hermione. I wanted to talk to them. You all could've sat closer to the other Gryffindors -- you didn't have to huddle at the end of the table."

"True," said Susan. "But it was fun, and we got to meet Nearly Headless Nick -- I think he's the best house ghost. Anyway, now we all know each other a bit. So what d'you want to talk about?"

"I want to go to bed," Apple said firmly. "It's late and we'll want to be well rested tomorrow." She found her bed -- it was just to the left of the door -- and began searching through her trunk for a nightdress.

"Terribly dull, you are," said Susan. "I suppose it goes with the hair -- it's drained all the fun from your head and used it for crackle. Well, Jia-li? Gwen? Ginevra?"

"It's Ginny," said Ginny, "and no, I'm tired." She closed her trunk; the rest of her unpacking could wait for tomorrow.

"Aah, you're no fun," said Susan with an exaggerated grimace. "How can sleep compete with friends? I'm sure we're all going to be friends -- or at least we ought to get very good at pretending, as I'm not going to spend seven years in the same room with a bunch of bloody stuck-up cows."

Jia-li giggled and Gwen snorted. "Bet your mum doesn't let you talk like that," said Gwen. "Mine'd have me out pitching gnomes for weeks if she heard me say that."

"Shut it, you. My mum thinks I'm a sweet little angel. My dad, now, he gives lessons to my brothers -- what should he care if I listen in a bit?" Susan grinned. "Come on, let's get acquainted." She led Jia-li and Gwen over to her bed and they disappeared behind the curtains.

Ginny sat on her bed and picked the diary off her night table, preparing to draw the curtains and tell Tom about her day. But before she opened her ink bottle, Apple tiptoed over, careful not to attract the attention of their hidden roommates. She looked unearthly in her white nightdress, her dark hair cascading nearly to her knees.

"Ginny, I want to talk."

"Not now," Ginny hissed, shoving the diary under her pillow. "Tomorrow."

"No, now. I want to know why you wouldn't sit next to me at the feast. I thought we were getting to be friends, though I know you like Daphne better. I don't particularly mind that -- everyone likes Daphne better. But why did you ignore me?"

Ginny glared at her. "Why did you shut me out of your secrets with Daphne? Why did Daphne get Sorted into Slytherin? What am I supposed to think after that?"

Apple looked surprised. "What does Daphne have to do with this? Slytherin's a fine house -- our cousin Alexandria was in Slytherin and she's amazing -- and we weren't shutting you out of anything, at least not intentionally. We've simply always done things together, only the two of us, so of course we're in the habit of keeping things between ourselves.

"But we liked you. And we thought you liked us." Apple folded her arms and stared challengingly at Ginny.

Ginny was silent. Apple tapped her foot.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said finally. "It's just -- my brothers -- I just don't like Slytherins. And then I saw Daphne smiling at Draco Malfoy and shaking his hand, and I couldn't believe it. Slytherin, maybe -- I guess they can't all be horrible -- but she smiled at Draco Malfoy.

"And you and she are planning something, and you wouldn't tell me about the dragon debacle, whatever that is, and I thought, obviously you're keeping secrets, since Daphne isn't what I thought she is. She couldn't be, to be in Slytherin and talk with Draco. And I couldn't think about it, so I couldn't look at you because then I'd think about it.

"Besides, I wanted to see my brothers. They're my family. And I wanted to know if they knew anything about Ron and Harry."

Apple digested this.

"I see," she said. "I don't necessarily agree, but I see. I don't know what you have against Slytherins, or Draco Malfoy, but Daphne's a good person. I can ask her if she wants to tell you about our plans, and the dragon debacle -- though I assure you it isn't terribly interesting -- but I'm not sure I'd still recommend it. But that's up to her to decide.

"Good night, Ginny. Sleep well." Apple ghosted back across the room to her bed and drew the curtains.

"Good night, Apple," Ginny whispered.

She waited a minute before she slowly drew the diary out from under her pillow and closed the bed curtains. She wanted to talk to Tom so badly she didn't know where to start. It had been such a confusing day -- so much had happened, she couldn't believe it had all taken only a few hours.

She held her quill poised over the page, thinking.

"Dear Tom," she wrote finally. "It's been a very strange day. It turns out Harry and Ron got to Hogwarts safely -- they came in my parents' flying car -- but they got into a lot of trouble. Also, I met two girls on the train, and they seemed very nice. But one of them was sorted into Slytherin, and she smiled and shook hands with Draco Malfoy, who's horrible. And now I don't know what to think. What do you think, Tom?"

She waited eagerly for her words to vanish and Tom to reply. He responded quickly, his writing almost sloppy with haste, as if he too had been anticipating this conversation.

_"I'm glad your brother is safe, Ginevra, though I'm sorry he's in trouble. As for the other, would you tell me some more? It's hard to know what to think when I don't have much to go on."_

Ginny flushed. Of course he needed to know more -- he hadn't been there with Daphne and Apple. He seemed so familiar already that she was surprised he hadn't already known everything.

"Sorry," she wrote. "Their names are Apple and Daphne Rumluck. They're cousins. Daphne seemed very nice and funny and friendly, and Apple was all right -- a bit uptight, maybe, but nice. But they were keeping secrets from me. And then Daphne was Sorted into Slytherin, even though all their family have been in Hufflepuff.

"I always thought people shouldn't trust Slytherins, that Slytherins were a nasty lot. That they were evil. That's what my brothers say, and my parents don't stop them. But I liked Daphne. So I thought, maybe some Slytherins can be all right, even though she'd been a bit cruel to a girl we met in the boats. After all, she didn't mean that. I think.

"Except then she smiled at Draco Malfoy and shook his hand. Draco is--" Ginny paused, trying to think how to put this. "Draco is a Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy was a Death Eater, one of You-Know-Who's followers, but he was pardoned and now he has a lot of influence with the Ministry. Draco's in Harry and Ron's year, and he's horrible, always trying to get them in trouble.

"This summer we ran into them at Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, and Draco insulted Harry. Then Mr. Malfoy grabbed my books and insulted my dad and my family, until he started a fight. It was awful. I just knew when he looked at me he thought I was scum. I hate him. He's scum."

Ginny paused to shake her aching hand; she had pressed so hard on her quill that she'd left deep indentations on the page, though her words had long since sunk into the depths of the diary.

"That's why I don't like Draco Malfoy. And Daphne smiled at him. I don't know what to think about her after that, even though Apple told me just now that Daphne's a good person, and not all Slytherins are awful. But I think Apple doesn't like me anymore.

"I don't know what to think, Tom. Help me."

There was a brief pause. _"May I have a moment to think, Ginevra?"_ asked Tom.

"Sure."

Ginny waited, brushing the feathery tip of her quill back and forth on the underside of her chin. Telling Tom had brought the evening back to her mind, after she'd managed to more or less shut it out. She didn't want to think about Daphne and Apple. She'd much rather just go to sleep and wake up to discover it had all been an unpleasant dream -- that both girls were in Gryffindor with her, Daphne had never said anything cruel to Xanthe, and Apple still liked her.

 _"I think,"_ Tom wrote suddenly, _"that you should keep an eye on Daphne. Your brothers are wrong about all Slytherins being evil -- the house would have been dissolved long ago, were that the case -- but many of them DO bear watching. I speak from experience; I was in Slytherin myself, and I saw many of my housemates devote themselves to causes that were... frowned upon by society, often deservedly so."_

Tom was a Slytherin? How odd, Ginny thought. Well, it was true her brothers were far from infallible; hadn't she already decided that maybe some Slytherins could be all right? And of course Tom, unlike Daphne, was trustworthy. Her eyes returned to the page.

 _"I would also keep an eye on Apple,"_ Tom wrote. _"If she and her cousin are very close, they may lead each other in questionable directions. Slytherins aren't the only ones who can fall._

_"Probably Apple is safe, and Daphne is likely harmless, if a bit callous. But as they say, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure -- be pleasant, but don't give away any of your secrets, particularly not to Daphne. I wouldn't want you to get hurt, Ginevra."_

Ginny smiled. "Don't worry, Tom; I'll keep myself safe. Thanks for being honest with me, and for the advice -- I feel a lot better now. But it's late, and I need to go to sleep. I'll talk to you again in the morning."

_"Goodnight, Ginevra."_

"Goodnight, Tom."

Ginny closed the diary and slipped it under her pillow. It was funny, she thought, that she didn't mind Tom calling her Ginevra, though she normally hated her full name. She liked that he had a special name for her -- it was another secret, something that was only hers. Well, hers and Tom's, but somehow, sharing a secret with him felt almost like sharing it with herself. He was safe.

As she drifted to sleep, Ginny realized she'd completely forgotten to ask Tom about dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting Hat recites a sonnet rather than sing a doggerel verse song for three reasons. First, I cannot write doggerel worth a damn. Second, I'd always wanted to try writing a sonnet. And third, why not? *grin*
> 
> For the record, I edited several of this story's early chapters to correct Ginny's full name back when Rowling first revealed it; I'd previously been using Virginia. Around that time I also retconned Luna Lovegood into the Sorting for canon verisimilitude, though she has no role in the story whatsoever.


	3. Overreactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Third: In which we follow Ginny through her first week of classes, during which much goes right but more goes wrong.

Apple had been quite right, Ginny discovered the next morning: they did want to be well rested. Professor McGonagall handed out class schedules at breakfast to those who were lucky enough to find the Great Hall again, and -- after the hideous embarrassment of the Howler Mum sent to Ron, which made everyone stare at Ginny as well as her brother -- the first year Gryffindors hurried off to Charms. The girls were all in a group -- Susan had woken them at the crack of dawn and led an expedition in search of the hall -- but the boys hadn't been so organized. The four of them straggled in late, complaining loudly of moving staircases and a poltergeist.

"That would be Peeves. If possible, ignore his tricks; I'm afraid there's simply nothing to be done about him," said Professor Flitwick, who taught Charms. He was the tiniest man Ginny had ever seen, and had to stand on a stack of books to see over his desk and call the roll.

The first days of term were a blur of classes and homework: star charts for Astronomy, essays on the theory of transfiguring one small inanimate object into another, and long reading assignments for History of Magic -- which was taught by Professor Binns, a deeply boring ghost; the only time he managed to get the class's attention was when he floated through the blackboard to enter his room. Ginny barely had time to write to Tom each evening. He accepted her apologies with good humor and assured her she'd settle into the work soon enough. She hoped he was right.

Friday morning they had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Ginny was not looking forward to this at all, having acquired a very low opinion of Gilderoy Lockhart, the new professor, during the unfortunate incident in Flourish and Blotts. True, he was good-looking, but he knew it and played it up for all he was worth, which didn't speak well of him. Furthermore, she couldn't stand his books; there was some useful information scattered through them, but it was buried in self-promoting autobiography.

She suspected he was lying about a lot of his adventures.

Apple agreed with Ginny. "He's a smarmy, two-faced, idiotic git," she said as the girls waited outside the classroom Friday morning, "and I expect he'll be hopeless as a professor. He used to work at the Ministry, my dad says, but he was fired for incompetence. So I don't see how he could have done so much against the Dark Arts. Besides, he simply couldn't have had _time_. One person can't get around that much of the world that fast. It's not physically possible."

"So you say," said Susan. "I think he'll be brilliant -- haven't you read his books? You're just jealous that he knows more than you."

"He's awfully handsome," said Jia-li, giggling. "He's very brave, too. I bet he breaks the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position -- he must know an awful lot about curses."

"Hmph," said Apple. "Time will tell.

Just then, Lockhart swept around a corner and beamed at the waiting Gryffindors. "Ah, first years! Ready and waiting for knowledge, are you? Come in, come in!" He made an extravagant gesture with his right arm, showing his flowing lime-green robes to great advantage. Ginny giggled. Apple rolled her eyes.

Lockhart waited until all nine students were seated, then cleared his throat loudly, stilling the boys' muttering. He walked to Susan's desk -- she had chosen a seat in the very front of the room -- and picked up her copy of _Gadding with Ghouls_ to show the class. "Very good, very good," he said, smiling at her. His portrait on the book cover smiled as well, its teeth glinting.

"I hope you've all done as well as Miss--"

"Ward, Susan Ward," said Susan breathlessly.

"--as Miss Ward, and bought a complete set of my books. I thought we'd start the year with a quiz -- nothing hard, nothing to worry about -- just to check what you've learned from your summer reading." He set down the book and handed out test papers, laying them on desks with a flourish. "You have thirty minutes -- starting now!"

Ginny struggled to stifle her laughter as she read the questions. None of them had a single thing to do with the Dark Arts, not even indirectly through a discussion of Lockhart's adventures. Instead, they tested knowledge of Lockhart, a subject in which she had less than no interest. Still, in the interest of her marks... She began to fill in answers, skipping anything she didn't remember. Thank goodness Mum fancied the git, otherwise Ginny wouldn't have read the books at all.

After half an hour, Lockhart collected the papers and skimmed the results, clearly disappointed. "I see no one has read the books very thoroughly, not at all," he said. "Not a single one of you remembered my favorite holiday -- it's Valentine's Day, I say that very clearly in _Holidays with Hags_. You clearly need quite a lot of make up work. Fortunately, here I am!"

He smiled blindingly at the class and launched into a rendition of his capture of the Westbridge Troll, complete with sound-effects, voices, and a dramatic reenactment, using Jasper Leeds as the troll and Susan as the threatened witch. Ginny giggled quietly through the whole lesson, sharing amused glances with Apple, who seemed to be feeling more charitable today.

After the lesson, the Gryffindors headed for lunch, talking loudly. They divided into two camps over Lockhart. Three of the boys -- Jasper Leeds, Danny Park, and Eugene Skelter -- thought he was a useless idiot. Ginny and Apple agreed, adding that he was smarmy and not nearly as good-looking as he thought he was.

Susan, Gwen, and Jia-li defended him vehemently, and the fourth boy, Colin Creevey, thought Lockhart was, as he said, "nearly as amazing as Harry Potter! Imagine, he's defeated all these monsters and dark wizards and witches -- don't you wish you could've been there? I took a picture of him and Harry Potter together, and he said he'd sign it if I got it developed. D'you think he'll remember?"

Colin was an excitable twit, Ginny decided. He didn't even have the excuse of being dazzled by a crush -- at least, she didn't _think_ he did. And what right did he have to be rushing about after Harry anyhow? Harry didn't want anyone hanging on to him.

She sat next to Apple at lunch. They didn't talk much, beyond simple things like "Please pass the potatoes," but Ginny felt Apple was definitely softening a bit. Perhaps they could be friends again. After all, just because she was keeping an eye on Apple didn't mean she couldn't talk with her.

That afternoon they had Double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, and Ginny couldn't wait to get to the greenhouses. She'd always liked messing around with plants. Besides, she wanted to see Xanthe again; if Apple didn't soften enough, perhaps she could spend some time with Xanthe.

Professor Sprout met the class in the entrance hall and led them out to Greenhouse One. There were several greenhouses, she explained, to segregate plants by type; Greenhouse One contained common herbs, most of which weren't specifically magical and were often used by Muggles as well as wizards.

"Now, you may think herbs are boring," said Sprout, attempting to look stern. "I'm sure you'd all rather poke at a Venomous Tentacula, but you aren't ready for the more spectacular plants. Furthermore, there's more to herbs than meets the eye, and they aren't always easy to care for.

"Today we'll learn about mint. It's often used in healing potions, particularly those that treat psychological problems. We'll discuss the specific uses of mint, and then you'll learn to recognize, tend, and harvest the plant. Finally, you'll transplant these flats of mint into those troughs in the corner."

Ginny scribbled notes on the uses of mint, but as soon as Sprout reached the care of the plant, she ceased to pay attention. She already knew this from helping Mum tend the garden at the Burrow; she'd been up to her elbows in herbs since she was four years old, when Mum had discovered her carefully uprooting dandelions and replanting them in rows by the pond.

"Let's turn that idea to something a little more useful," Mum had said, and though Ginny still thought flowers were more fun than herbs or vegetables, she had to admit that she loved gardening for its own sake. It was something practical -- something useful -- unlike swishing a stick through the air while calling out incomprehensible words. She couldn't wait to get her share of the mint and run her hands through the soil in the troughs.

Sprout clapped her hands suddenly and said, "There now, that's all about mint. For more details, please see pages 24-25 of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. Now watch carefully while I demonstrate the proper technique for transplanting the mint." Ginny was impressed by Sprout's speed, and by how few roots she damaged while lifting the plant from the flat. Sprout certainly knew what she was doing; perhaps she'd be willing to let Ginny help out with some herbs after classes. It would be lovely to spend time gardening again.

"Everyone pair up now, and begin transplanting," said Sprout. The boys, both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, paired up immediately. Susan grabbed Apple while Gwen turned to Jia-li, leaving Ginny at loose ends. Fortunately, the Hufflepuff girls were still discussing pairings amongst themselves.

Ginny walked over and cleared her throat. "Excuse me," she said, "but I don't have a partner. Would one of you be willing to work with me?"

The girls glanced up. "Oh, Ginny!" said Xanthe, who looked much happier today than at the Sorting. "Sure, I'll work with you." She hurried over to the flats.

"You do know what we're doing, right?" she asked, selecting a trough and shoving a sack of dirt into Ginny's arms. "Because I don't. I've never been any good with plants -- I'm sure I'll kill them, and then I'll get bad marks and my mum will be terribly disappointed and say I've dishonored the family name, and it'll be just _awful_."

Ginny blinked at the rush of words. She'd had no idea Xanthe could be this talkative. "Yes, I know what we're doing," she said. "Plants are easy, really -- just watch me and do what I do. And mind you don't break the roots; that's very important."

"Okay," said Xanthe. "I'm glad one of us knows what she's doing." She smiled suddenly. "It's good to see you again. I want to thank you for being so nice before I was Sorted. I was in a right state, and I'm sorry you had to put up with me. You were right, you know -- Hufflepuff's a wonderful house, and I'm glad I got in."

Ginny smiled back. "Any time. And you weren't horrible at all. Now, look here." She carefully popped the mint out of the flat -- it was cheap plastic, probably purchased from a Muggle nursery -- and placed it onto the thin layer of soil in the trough Xanthe had appropriated. After she filled in the space with a bit more dirt, she tamped it down slightly and repeated the process with the next plant. "You want to get them all in before you do much careful work with the soil, or before you water them -- otherwise you'll only have to keep doing it over, and you'll might end up over-watering them. Now you try."

Xanthe fumbled clumsily with a flat and Ginny reached over to help her. They passed most of the class talking about their first days at Hogwarts. Occasionally Ginny pointed out mistakes the others made, partly to make Xanthe feel better, and partly to teach by negative example. As she became less nervous about killing the mint, Xanthe complained at length about History of Magic and Potions, waving her trowel for emphasis.

"I don't understand it," she said. "History is absolutely fascinating, Binns is teaching us about some of the bloodiest battles the wizarding world ever faced, and I couldn't stay awake through his lecture. It shouldn't be _possible_ to make it that boring.

"And Potions! Snape is horrible. He hates _everyone_ , but he hates Hufflepuffs more than Ravenclaws. We have Double Potions with the Ravenclaws, you know. He says that they at least display a modicum of intelligence, while all the hard work in the world doesn't do a bit of good if one works in the wrong direction.

"He's so cruel all the time, and he takes away points for the smallest things. I hate him. I'm smart enough to be in Ravenclaw -- the Sorting Hat said so -- so I don't see why he thinks I'm stupid just because I'm in Hufflepuff. Just because I like people too, and I don't think musty old books are the be all and end all of the world. Feh. I hate Snape." Xanthe stabbed her trowel into the sack, dumping soil carelessly over the newly planted mint. "I hate him," she repeated.

Ginny winced for the mint but made sympathetic noises. "I know," she said. "Binns is unbelievable -- and I've heard all about Snape for years from my brothers. He's even worse to Gryffindors, especially since we have Potions with the Slytherins. I have it on Monday and I don't want to go."

"Oh, that's right," said Xanthe. "Yes, I suppose he would favor the Slytherins, since they're his house. I suppose I can see why you don't like Slytherins -- we have Astronomy with them, you know, and they were just _horrible_ to Professor Sinistra last night. She did them one better, though, and gave them all detention after class, so they were up until three in the morning."

Ginny laughed. "Good for Sinistra."

Xanthe smiled. "Yes, I like her. She knows what she's talking about -- nothing fuzzy in her classes. And charting star paths is fun. It reminds me of maths. I miss not having any maths here."

Ginny tamped down the soil around the last of their mint plants, and stood to fetch a watering can. "I wish I knew a watering charm. I've seen my mum use one on our garden, but I can't remember the words and I don't know how it works, anyhow."

"Oh, just wait a bit and we'll learn it, I'm sure," said Xanthe. She watched as Ginny watered the trough, setting the soil firmly in place around the mint. "Thanks so much for partnering me -- you're really good at this, you know. You have a touch."

Ginny flushed, pleased and embarrassed. "It's nothing really," she said. "I just help my mum with the garden, so of course I know a lot. And plants are easy to get on with -- they're friendly."

"So you say," said Xanthe, looking suspiciously around the greenhouse. "Some of those herbs look rather disturbing, or as if they'd die if you sneezed at them. And I don't even want to know about anything called a Venomous Tentacula."

Ginny was about to explain that Venomous Tentaculae were not only dead cool but actually quite harmless if you took a few simple precautions -- but before she could speak, Sprout clapped her hands for attention and said, "Very good, all of you! A marvelous first class. Everyone over to the fountain to wash up and then back to the castle. I'll see you again Tuesday morning."

Ginny put the pot, trowels, and empty flats away and washed her hands, picking dirt from under her fingernails. "Do you think we could meet tomorrow, to talk a bit, and maybe to study?" she asked Xanthe as they walked out of the greenhouse. "I could help you with Herbology and you could explain Astronomy to me."

"Hmmm. Maybe," said Xanthe. "I have to check with my friends." She stuck her head around the corner to look for the other Hufflepuff girls when one of them rushed up and grabbed her arm.

"Xanthe, come on," she said. "We're off to explore the grounds, and then we have to get back to the common room. Hurry up!" She noticed Ginny and nodded at her. "Caroline Addo, nice to meet you -- sorry, but we have to go now. House things."

Xanthe shrugged at Ginny as Caroline dragged her away. "Sorry! Maybe next week?" she called. "See you Tuesday morning."

"Okay," said Ginny, watching the two girls disappear behind the greenhouses. The other Gryffindors were already halfway back to the castle, walking in a tight group. Ginny sighed and walked slowly after them.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny had intended to catch up with the other first years, but she wasn't paying much attention to her speed and soon lost them in the maze of corridors and staircases. She poked around through some nearby rooms -- which were either empty, filled with peculiar objects, or used to store spare furniture -- before giving it up as a bad job and going back outside. Maybe Harry was out there, enjoying the sunshine.

Small knots of students decorated the castle lawns, but Ginny didn't see anyone she knew. It was a beautiful day, though, and she thought she might as well look around the grounds. The Quidditch pitch, she thought, was behind the castle, but she didn't much care about that; instead, she decided to explore down the slope leading to the lake.

Ginny picked her way down the hillside path, aiming for the water, until she passed a strange, round cottage surrounded by dead animals, a chicken yard, and a patch of enormous pumpkins. Curious, she walked over to poke at the pumpkins. "I wonder how they got so big?" she muttered. Mum had never had much luck with squash or gourds, and she'd appreciate it if Ginny could give her some tips.

"'Lo there," a deep voice boomed from behind her. Ginny whirled, clutching her bag, and then mentally smacked herself for her nerves. It was only Hagrid.

"Hi," she said. "Er, you don't know me, but I'm Ron Weasley's sister, Ginny. I was just looking at your pumpkins -- they're very big."

"Yeh, they are," said Hagrid, beaming at his garden. "Jus' between you an' me, I've bin givin' them a bit o' encouragement." He winked at her.

"Really? Mum's no good with pumpkins -- could you tell me what spell you're using? And what fertilizer? She'd be really interested," said Ginny, smiling back. It was hard not to smile at Hagrid; he reminded her of a shabby, overgrown teddy-bear.

"Mrs. Weasley, int'rested in my pumpkins?" asked Hagrid. "Well now, tha's somethin'. Jus' come sit a minute an' I'll write up what I do." He lumbered off into his cottage, holding the door open for Ginny to follow. "Don' mind Fang, he's harmless," he added as the door swung shut behind her.

Fang turned out to be a giant dog, who, aside from the way his greeting knocked Ginny to the floor, really was as softhearted as Hagrid said. Ginny flopped into a seat at the rough wooden table and scratched behind Fang's ears while Hagrid hunted up a quill and a scrap of parchment.

"So yer Ron's sister," he said as he sat down with his supplies. "Yeh'll know Harry, righ'?"

Ginny blushed. "He stayed with us this summer -- after Ron and the twins kidnapped him. The Dursleys were starving him, and they put bars on his window! It must've been awful."

Hagrid grinned. "Worried about Harry, eh? Yeh like him, don' yeh."

"No!" Ginny looked aside from Hagrid's knowing glance. "Er, maybe. Don't tell him!"

"Don' worry," said Hagrid. "I gotta lot o' practice keepin' secrets. Yeh jus' try ter be his friend -- Harry's a good friend." He set down his quill with an air of accomplishment and handed Ginny a list of instructions for growing pumpkins, quite clear and legible despite his shaky handwriting. "Tha's fer yer mum. Yeh run along now, Ginny."

Ginny smiled shyly, gave Fang a parting scratch around his collar, and slipped out the door. She glanced downhill, debating whether to still explore the lake. No, she thought, it was getting late and the wind was picking up. Slowly, she made her way to Gryffindor tower.

The common room was relatively empty -- most students were still outside -- but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were at a table by the fire. Hermione was drilling the boys on the theory of levitating charms, "which is particularly important for _you_ to pay attention to, Ron," she said, as Ginny passed behind them, "since you made such a mess out of class today. Imagine, giving poor Professor Flitwick boils!"

Ginny watched Harry as she crossed the room, trying to be subtle about it. She didn't want him to think she was like Colin, asking for signed photographs. The idea made her cringe.

A photograph of Harry would be a marvelous thing to have, though. She could keep it by her bed, or perhaps under her pillow. No, she would save it between the pages of Tom's diary -- her best friend and Harry together.

But she wasn't going to ask for a photograph. Ever.

Ginny sank into an armchair in the corner, curling her legs up against her chest and resting her head at the joint of the chair arm and back. Hermione had apparently given up on Harry and Ron and was waving her arms in exasperation, her voice rising and falling on a shrill note. Harry's face was fixed in a blank expression, while Ron was signally failing to hide both annoyance and laughter. He succeeded only in contorting his face.

Finally Harry sighed and said something to Hermione -- Ginny couldn't catch his words -- and she subsided, shooting Ron a deadly look. Ron grinned unrepentantly and Hermione sniffed but gave him a small smile in return. The trio settled down for a peaceful conversation, their voices now too low to carry into Ginny's corner.

Ginny leaned casually against the arm of her chair, shaking her hair over her face and peering through it. Those three were such a strange group. She supposed she could see why Harry and Ron were friends -- they were both boys, mad for Quidditch, and not terribly serious about classes or rules. Hermione was the odd person out in many ways. Except she wasn't, of course -- she'd been just as much a part of their adventures last year, and the boys showed no signs of abandoning her when she lectured them; they merely complained and humored her.

How did Hermione manage it? There was nothing to hold the friendship together, on the face of it, and yet clearly Harry and Ron were her friends -- better friends than Ginny had ever had, even counting Sarah Peasegood who'd moved to Italy two years ago.

Perhaps Harry made the difference. It certainly couldn't be Ron -- Ginny snorted at the thought of her brother becoming friends with anyone like Hermione without strong outside influence. Yes, Harry must be the key. He'd been the one who remembered that Hermione was in the bathroom, after all, and had insisted that she had to be warned about the troll -- whereas Ron was the one who'd made her run off and cry in the first place.

That, Ginny felt, summed up the difference between Harry and Ron -- between Harry and all her brothers, actually. Harry was a _good_ person. He was a hero. She flushed at the thought, imagining his reaction if she ever told him. Oh God, he would be mortified. Harry didn't think he was anything special. And in many ways, he was right...

Except he was also very wrong. He was special, not just because he was the Boy Who Lived, but because he was _Harry_. He was funny and sweet and cute, and she knew, just from seeing him -- hearing him talk -- spending time around him -- that he would always do what was right. Harry projected a sense that nothing was impossible, that no darkness was so terrible it couldn't be cleared by a new morning, that somehow he would save not just her, but anyone, from anything that threatened.

Ginny wished she could explain that to him.

Suddenly Hermione jumped up from the table and grabbed Harry's hand, yanking him upright. "Come on," she said, "we have to write those essays for Professor Binns and you won't want them hanging over your heads all weekend, not with the weather so good." Ron groaned, but he hauled himself out of the chair and followed his friends out through the portrait hole.

Ginny watched as the portrait swung shut behind the trio. Now what was she supposed to do? The common room was nearly empty, the other first years were God knows where, and none of her brothers were around to take her mind off things. She desperately wanted to talk to someone.

Oh.

She felt like smacking herself. She could talk to Tom, of course. It was only that she'd left the diary under her pillow and had forgotten about it during Herbology. Perhaps she could carry it with her other books -- she could write between classes, or in History of Magic, where she wouldn't miss anything except extra sleep.

Ginny rushed up the stairs and leapt onto her bed, dropping her bag to the floor. Tom's diary almost sprang into her hand, and she dipped the quill she kept beside the bed into her new emerald ink. She'd traded several bottles of scarlet ink to Susan in return for the emerald -- she liked the color. It reminded her of Harry's eyes, though of course it was too dull to be a perfect match. Harry's eyes were so green they wouldn't stick in her mind's eye no matter how hard she tried to memorize the shade -- their brilliance always startled her again when she saw them.

But enough of Harry's eyes.

"Dear Tom," Ginny wrote, "it's been an interesting day. We had Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning, and Professor Lockhart is a brainless, oily git. Apple agrees with me, but Susan, Gwen, and Jia-li are in love with him -- they think he's handsome.

"After lunch was Herbology, which is going to be easy. I know all about herbs from helping my mum with the garden. I was partnered with Xanthe Delaflor -- she's a Hufflepuff, I met her before the Sorting -- and she was very nice. So I thought I might finally have a friend besides you, but when I asked to meet her this weekend, another Hufflepuff pulled her away, and she said maybe we could try next week.

"Then I met Hagrid, the groundskeeper, which was interesting. He has chickens, and he grows pumpkins, and he's nice, but he figured out that I -- that I like someone, and that's embarrassing. Ron says he's nice but a little strange sometimes, and he doesn't understand about dangerous animals -- he tried to raise a baby dragon last year!

"What I was really wondering, though, is how to make friends. Do you know how to do that, Tom? I never had to, really, since I had six brothers, and I knew Sarah Peasegood since forever. Her mum used to leave her with us for the afternoons when she went off to work. But I don't have any close friends here. Susan, Gwen, and Jia-li are friends; Apple doesn't seem to need any except Daphne; Colin's a twit; and the boys think girls are useless except maybe for Susan. And they all left Herbology without me and vanished.

"I'm lonely, Tom."

Ginny tapped the feathery quill tip against her teeth, waiting for Tom's response -- it was only fair to leave him a minute or two to gather his thoughts, since she didn't give him a word edgewise while she was writing.

_"First, I hope Professor Lockhart isn't as incompetent as you say,"_ wrote Tom. _"If he is, would you like my help with some real Dark Arts lessons?"_ He paused, evidently waiting for an answer.

"Yes, thanks!" Ginny scribbled, and resumed tapping her quill, sprawled comfortably on her stomach with her feet in the air.

_"Good. Second, I'm glad you'll have an easy time with Herbology. It was never one of my good subjects, and I admire your talent. Third, I'm not exactly sure what you mean by 'making friends.' You're a wonderful person, Ginevra,"_ \-- Ginny blushed -- _"and I can't see why anyone wouldn't want to have you as a friend. I suggest you watch them for a while, see what they like to do and talk about, and use that to start new conversations. Don't pin your hopes on Xanthe, though -- inter-house relationships are often... disappointing."_

Tom's writing darkened on the last word, Ginny noticed. Had he had a bad friendship while he was at Hogwarts?

"Did you have a friend from another house who ignored you?" she wrote.

_"Not exactly,"_ responded Tom, his writing slow and careful. _"There was a girl, Rosalind Winterbourne, in Ravenclaw, my year. I admired her, but she considered me -- a penniless halfblood orphan -- to be beneath her. The Winterbournes are, or were, a proud family, you see, and Rose was no exception. She did finally deign to notice me in our fifth year, but I later learned she had no real interest in me -- other than making a Ravenclaw sixth year jealous."_

Tom seemed to sigh, though Ginny had no idea how he managed to express that through ink and paper. _"I'm sure Xanthe wouldn't do anything so cruel, but she'll most likely put her Hufflepuff friends above you simply because she sees them more often."_

Poor Tom! Ginny thought. It was so romantic that he'd loved his Rose for so long, only to be crushed. It was like one of those old Muggle plays Dad kept around the house -- the ones enchanted to read themselves aloud, all full of poetry and elegant words. She sighed. Still, Tom had lived through his troubles, and he had a good point about Xanthe and the other Hufflepuffs.

"Thanks, Tom. I'll still try to be Xanthe's friend, but I won't expect too much," she wrote. "I guess I'll go downstairs now and see if the other first years are back yet. Until tonight."

_"Until tonight, Ginevra."_

Ginny slipped the diary back under her pillow, smiling to herself. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might tell Tom how she felt about Harry. After all, he knew how it felt to be ignored by someone he liked -- though Harry was nothing like that horrible Rose.

She decided to wait a bit before telling him, though. Lost love notwithstanding, Tom was still a boy -- and besides, her feelings for Harry were private. She still hadn't forgiven Ron for telling Harry, and Ron was her favorite brother.

Ginny slipped down the stairs and peered into the common room. The first years had returned and had split into groups near the fire. Gwen and Jia-li were whispering about something, Apple was reading, Colin was tinkering with his camera, and Susan was telling the boys an off-color joke she'd learned from her father.

Ginny watched Apple for a few seconds but decided against approaching her; she seemed absorbed in her book. Gwen and Jia-li didn't look as if they'd welcome an interruption, and Colin was a twit, so Ginny walked towards Susan and the boys.

"Hey," she said. "Mind if I join you?"

"Ginny!" cried Susan. "We looked for the kitchens but we got lost, so we went exploring down by the Quidditch pitch, and we missed you. Where on earth have you been?"

Ginny shrugged. "Nowhere interesting. What are you doing now?"

"Telling jokes," said Jasper.

" _Dirty_ jokes," clarified Eugene. "Are you sure you don't want to go talk to the other girls?" Jasper and Danny snickered.

Ginny drew herself up and scowled. "I have six older brothers, thank you very much. I think I can take a few jokes. I even bet I know some you've never heard."

"Bet you a Sickle you don't," said Susan.

Ginny grinned. This was going to be easy. "You're on," she said, and settled down to listen to the remainder of Susan's story. When she closed her eyes, she almost felt she was home again, laughing with her brothers in the garden as the smell of Mum's cooking drifted from the kitchen.

Thanks, Tom, she thought. You were right.

\---------------------------------------------

The weekend was largely uneventful -- the only happening of note was the development of firm groups among the first years. Gwen and Jia-li paired off (Ginny was at a loss to say what they had in common); Susan hung out with Jasper, Eugene, and Danny; and Apple adopted Colin as a project. Ginny drifted around the edges, mostly spending time with Susan and the boys, but occasionally joining Gwen and Jia-li for gossip. She avoided Apple whenever the other girl was with Colin, which was most of the time. Apple seemed to take this as an insult and stopped talking to Ginny beyond the bare minimum necessary to keep Susan off their throats.

Monday morning the Gryffindors set off in search of the dungeons and their Double Potions class with the Slytherins. Susan had roped the boys into coming down to breakfast with the girls, so all nine of them walked down staircases and through dank corridors together, trying to make sense of the garbled instructions Ginny had gotten Ron to write out. In retrospect, she should have asked Hermione or Percy; they'd have spent much less time making wrong turns and getting caught on moving stairs.

"Your brother's a bloody idiot, you know," said Susan, after a third staircase twisted around and deposited them on the wrong side of the stairwell. "And his handwriting's _impossible_. We're going to be _so_ late."

"Sorry," said Ginny. "Didn't anyone else think to ask directions? I'm not the only one who has family here."

Jia-li and Eugene had the grace to look embarrassed. Apple just shrugged.

"Hey, I think the staircase was actually supposed to move," said Jasper, peering at the crumpled parchment. "We're on the south side of the castle, and if your brother's right, the Potions dungeon should be down this corridor, fifth door on the left."

"Oh thank goodness," said Susan, hoisting her cauldron and charging down the dimly lit passage. "Come on, we're late!"

The others followed more slowly, unwilling to believe they might finally have interpreted the directions correctly. But the fifth door on the left was indeed the Potions dungeon, already half-filled with the first year Slytherins, many of whom shot the tired Gryffindors superior looks as they filed into the room. Daphne, sitting with a thin-faced girl, waved at her cousin. Apple smiled back.

Ginny quickly looked away from Daphne, dumped her bag and cauldron on the nearest desk, and sank onto the hard wooden chair, dropping her head onto her arms. She ached all over: from getting up early, from walking miles through the blasted castle, and from hauling a cauldron full of Potions supplies such a long way.

This was going to be a bad day. She just knew it.

The door slammed open and Snape strode in, robes flapping like hooked bat wings. The room fell instantly silent as he turned and glared at the students, his black eyes cold and glittering. "I'm shocked," he said. "No one appears to be late." His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the room and woke harsh echoes from the stone walls.

Susan flinched slightly and mouthed, "Thank God." Ginny agreed. She never wanted to be late to Potions.

Snape called the roll, pausing after each name to scrutinize its owner; Ginny squirmed under his measuring gaze. "So," he said, setting the parchment aside, "we begin. You are here to learn the exact and painstaking art of potion-making. I am here to teach you, if that should prove possible. As this is a precise science, and involves little imbecilic wand-waving, most of you will hardly consider it magic. I doubt any of you will truly understand the subtle beauty of the simmering cauldron, veiled in shimmering fumes -- or the delicate power of liquids that insinuate themselves into the very blood, weaving a network of spells throughout the body and mind, perhaps affecting the very soul..."

Snape paused, his black gaze sweeping over the students, daring them to twitch or challenge his words. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of lackwits as I usually have to teach," he finished.

Silence reigned. Ginny prayed she wouldn't be a lackwit, but she had a deep feeling that Snape was already prejudiced against her -- not only because she was a Gryffindor and a Weasley, but because Ron was Harry's friend. She wanted to excel at Potions and prove him wrong. Besides, Snape had made a good point about the wand-waving business -- if Potions was anything as practical as Herbology, she shouldn't have too hard a time. Probably.

"I've decided, this year, to assign partners," said Snape suddenly, breaking into Ginny's thoughts, "as the results of my previous classes, where I allowed students to work with their friends, have been... disappointing. Pairings are subject to change depending on your results."

He picked up the roll again and began calling names. The Slytherins he placed quickly, pairing boys with boys and girls with girls -- Daphne stayed with the thin-faced girl, but one girl was left without a partner. Snape moved on to the Gryffindors, seating Colin with Jasper, Eugene with Danny, Jia-li with Gwen, Apple with Susan, and Ginny with the remaining Slytherin girl.

Ginny gathered her books and supplies and walked heavily to her assigned desk, which was unfortunately right in front of Daphne and the thin-faced girl. Ignoring her new partner, she dumped her bag on the floor, unloaded her supplies, and set them in organized rows on the desk. Then she pulled out several sheets of parchment, a quill, and one of her new bottles of emerald ink.

"Hey," said the Slytherin girl, leaning over and covering Ginny's parchment with her sleeve. "I'm talking to you. What's your name?"

Ginny glared irritably at the girl, who had a heart-shaped face, blue eyes, and wavy honey-blond hair; Ginny detested her on sight. "Ginny Weasley," she said. "And you are...?"

"Electra Summers. Shove over, you're taking up my side of the desk." The blond girl thumped her scales onto the desk, pushing Ginny's carefully ordered ingredients into a jumble. "Oops," she said breezily, "guess you'll have to start over." The thin-faced girl giggled from the desk behind, and Ginny caught a smothered snort from Daphne.

Stupid cow. Ginny picked through her disarrayed ingredients and began to reorder them in tighter rows. Before she finished, however, Snape cleared his throat.

"You have had more than enough time to situate yourselves," he said. "I will instruct you on the Fevrous Potion, a common remedy for fever and sweats. You will take notes, prepare the potion, and write a three foot essay for next Monday on fever-reducing potions, their common ingredients, and what makes them effective."

Ginny took meticulous notes, scratching away as fast as possible to keep up with Snape -- he apparently disdained written lecture guides and expected his students to discern vital brewing instructions from asides and background information with no visual cues. Beside her, Electra lazily noted a few directions, many of which were nearly irrelevant. Ginny fumed. Obviously Snape had given his house prior instruction on the Fevrous Potion -- how like a Slytherin.

"You should have all necessary ingredients except the salamander intestines," said Snape finally, "which you will measure from the jar on my desk, under supervision. Do _not_ allow the oil to drain before you add the intestines to the potion, as they are explosive in water." He paused, glaring at the Gryffindors and favoring the Slytherins with a milder though equally penetrating gaze.

"Begin."

Electra turned to Ginny. "Right, then. You get the ingredients and prepare them; I'll keep an eye on the cauldron and tell you what to do next. Get to it."

Ginny clenched her hands under the desk. "No," she said. "First we review the ingredients, their preparation, and the order in which they should be added, and then we each prepare some of them, to save time. I'll get the salamander intestines when we need them."

Electra sniffed. "Not on your life, Weasley. I'm not touching any of that rubbish. Start chopping." She sat back on her chair, lounging against the desk, and waved a languid hand at Ginny. "Go on, what are you waiting for? Time flies, Weasley."

"You stinking cow," Ginny hissed, stepping forward. "I am _not_ doing all the work while you sit back and--"

"Ginny," said a familiar voice from behind her.

Ginny spun. "What now?"

Daphne smiled and held out her hands. "Hey, give it a rest," she said quietly, motioning at Electra and jerking her head towards the front of the room. "You don't want Snape to hear you and come over here. He's in a bit of a mood today -- then again, he usually is. Anyway, don't push it. Just ignore Electra -- she's an utter snob -- and let me and Ruth help you out a little."

"Oh? And what do you get out of it?" said Ginny, keeping her voice low and ignoring Electra's haughty stare. "You get to ruin my potion and laugh at me with Electra, like you did when she knocked over my supplies? No thanks."

Daphne looked upset. "Look, I'm sorry about Electra," she said. "She's a pain, but really, it's best to ignore her. Just let her stir the cauldron and you make sure the ingredients go in properly. And I'm sorry about laughing, but you have to admit it was funny, especially your expression. Anyway, I thought we were friends? Friends help each other out."

Ginny glared at her. "It was _not_ funny. Friends don't laugh at friends when they're being insulted, Slytherin."

"Hey!" said Daphne. "Don't tell me you buy into all that rubbish about Slytherins being evil. I thought you were smarter than that."

Ginny took a deep breath. Think of Tom, she told herself, think of Tom. "Of course all Slytherins aren't evil," she said scathingly. "You'd have to be daft to think so." She paused for maximum effect, watching Daphne's face cloud in confusion. "But that doesn't mean I have to trust you, you back-stabbing liar!"

Daphne drew in a shocked breath. "You utter--"

"Daphne, shut it!" the thin-faced girl said suddenly, grabbing Daphne's shoulder. "She's not worth it -- just another holier-than-thou Gryffindor. Come on, Snape's coming this way and we're wasting time."

Daphne glared at Ginny but let her breath out. "Right, Ruth," she said to the thin-faced girl. "I'll just let Electra take care of _Weasley_ here." She turned and sat down next to Ruth, and began viciously slicing willow bark into thin strips.

Ginny seethed at the implication that _she_ was at fault. None of this was her fault; it was all Daphne's. She deserved worse. Ginny reached over and brushed Daphne's sliced bark onto the floor with her sleeve. "Oops," she said, "guess you'll have to start over." Take that, Daphne Rumluck, she thought -- that's for taking me in on the train. That's for insulting Xanthe, for laughing at me behind my back, and for making sure Apple wouldn't be my friend.

Daphne glared -- her knife hand jerked involuntarily forward -- but Ruth seized her wrist and muttered into her ear. Slowly Daphne lowered her hand and grinned nastily at Ginny. "Start over, Weasley? I think I will."

By the time Snape reached the back of the classroom, Ginny had made a good start on preparing various ingredients and had added the first set to boil. She'd have preferred to have more ingredients ready before starting the potion, but she had to make time to compensate for Electra and for her argument with Daphne.

"Your technique is reasonable, Miss Weasley," said Snape, watching her with cold black eyes. "However, you should have had the willow bark sliced before you added the beetle eyes. Miss Summers, why didn't you correct her?"

"I'm sorry, Professor Snape," said Electra, pretending to study Ginny's carefully-written recipe. "I did warn her, but she wouldn't listen."

"I see," said Snape. "Pay more attention to Miss Summers in future, Miss Weasley." He swept to Daphne's desk, leaving Ginny to fume in silence.

She glared at Electra, who smiled and lounged against the desk. "Tough luck for you, Weasley," she said. "Get on with it, you're wasting time."

Ginny rushed the rest of the process as much as she thought safe, and was nearly finished when something arced over her shoulder and fell into her cauldron with a hissing splash. Oh God, she thought, fishing through the potion for the offending whatever-it-was, please don't let anything go wrong...

The potion exploded.

Thick, syrupy liquid splattered over the nearby desks, drenching people and bleaching their robes to a bilious green. Danny and Eugene stumbled backward with startled cries and Electra shrieked into Ginny's ear, nearly deafening her. Over Electra's piercing scream, Ginny dimly heard laughter from somewhere. It had to be Daphne.

Snape's voice rose over the pandemonium. "Silence!" he bellowed. "Return to your seats until I find out what happened." Nobody moved. "Detention to anyone not in his or her seat in five seconds."

As people rushed back to their seats, Snape strode towards Ginny and Electra. Ginny sat frozen; Electra had collapsed into her chair, gasping for breath. She was going to hyperventilate in a minute if she didn't calm down, Ginny noted absently, most of her attention fixed on Snape.

"What happened here, Miss Weasley?" demanded Snape. "Had you gone deaf when I said the oil was _not_ to be drained from the salamander intestines? Without an antidote, everyone splashed by your potion will have a nasty case of night sweats for several days."

"But it wasn't me!" protested Ginny. "I didn't put them in -- someone threw them -- it was Daphne, Professor--"

"Silence!" said Snape. "Miss Weasley, I'll thank you not to lie in my class. You're obviously taking a leaf out of your brothers' book -- always blaming the Slytherins for your own errors. How very _noble_ of you. Ten points from Gryffindor for the damage to the classroom and ten for lying to a professor. And detention. Be here tomorrow night at eight."

He spun around, ignoring Ginny's incoherent cry of rage, and said, "Everyone splashed by Miss Weasley's potion, come to the front of the room for an antidote. Miss Weasley will remain after class to clean up her mess."

Ginny lined up for the antidote along with nearly the whole class, and shuddered at the taste of the three drops of viscous purple liquid Snape placed on her outstretched tongue. From the corner of her eye she could see the others pulling horrible faces at the sour, nauseating flavor. She felt horribly embarrassed; would the Gryffindors blame her? It was all Daphne's fault, of course, but they didn't know that for certain. And she'd lost twenty points in one class. Ginny glanced surreptitiously at her housemates. Eugene noticed and gave her an encouraging wave, but Apple shot her a hard look and turned away.

After dispensing the antidote, Snape declared the class a total failure, as four other pairs' potions had been contaminated in the explosion. He lectured for several minutes on the importance of proper attention to recipe instructions, no matter how arbitrary they might seem. "None of you will even begin to approach the knowledge of Potions theory necessary to understand the reasons behind the directions, let alone the skill to make harmless or potentially beneficial alterations, until the end of your fifth year," he said, staring balefully at the class as if he wished to use them as test subjects for experimental potions. "I highly doubt any of you will have that knowledge even then, judging by your disastrous performance today. Place your cauldrons and supplies in the fifth cabinet on the left wall before you leave. Class dismissed."

Ginny sighed with relief and gathered her bottles and tins, which she'd wiped clean while ignoring Snape's lecture; she knew perfectly well how to follow instructions and didn't care what he thought of her anymore. But before she could layer them in her still-messy cauldron and escape, Snape leaned over her shoulder, his breath chill against her ear.

"Miss Weasley, I expect the room spotless in time for my next class, in half an hour," he said. "Also, as you would know, had you listened during the past quarter hour, one never puts anything in a cauldron before cleaning it. Ever."

Electra snickered as Snape swept through a door in the far wall, presumably to his office or a private workroom. Daphne sauntered over to Ginny, her bag slung casually over one shoulder. "I started over, Weasley," she said. "What do you think of my new approach?"

"You filthy cow," said Ginny furiously. "Get out."

"Now, now," said Daphne, a mock expression of hurt settling on her round face. "Please remember you insulted me first -- I'm only following your advice. Don't shift your troubles onto me." She walked off, sending Ginny a jaunty wave over her shoulder. "Be seeing you, Weasley. Do give Apple my regards."

Ginny hissed wordlessly, too angry to respond with anything coherent. Spinning, she grabbed some rags and cleaning potion from the rusty sink in the corner and attacked her cauldron, imagining that the dissolving crust of her ruined Fevrous Potion was Daphne's face, and she could blot out the Slytherin girl's horrible, self-righteous smirk if she scrubbed hard enough.

Half an hour later, exhausted but successful, Ginny slunk out of the cleaned Potions dungeon just ahead of the inrushing tide of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fourth-years, her bag weighing on her tired shoulders. She'd missed most of her break, but she desperately needed a bite before History of Magic. Detouring past the Great Hall, Ginny couldn't restrain an excited hop when she realized lunch wasn't over -- she could take something with her to class. She wrapped a turkey sandwich in a napkin and dashed off to Binns's room, shedding crumbs and bits of lettuce.

She slid into a seat at the back of the room with barely a minute to spare, shrugging at the questioning looks from her housemates. Apple glared at her; Ginny glared back, incensed, but Apple turned away as Binns walked through the door. Coward, thought Ginny.

As soon as Binns was immersed in his lecture, Ginny pulled out her sandwich, tidied the ragged edges, and ate half of it very quickly. Once the worst of her hunger was sated, she took her time on the rest of the sandwich, chewing thoroughly and thinking about anything but Potions.

This was easier said than done. No matter how hard she tried to think about Herbology, Astronomy star charts, or even the Transfiguration essay due Wednesday -- paying attention to Binns was out of the question -- her mind drifted back to Electra and Snape. And to Daphne. It was always Daphne. Tom had been right, she thought; some Slytherins were bad all the way through. She was beginning to think that good ones must be few and far between.

A wave of sympathy for Tom, trapped for seven years in that poisonous house, washed over Ginny. And on top of that, he was thwarted in love by his Rose, who must have had a stone heart not to like him. No wonder he seemed eager to talk to her; he'd needed a friend as badly as she had.

Lost in her thoughts, Ginny almost didn't notice when class ended -- she hastily stuffed her used napkin into her bag and headed for the door. She wanted to find a private place and talk to Tom.

But on her way out of the classroom, she banged into Apple, who was trying to ask Binns a question. Before she could think about what she was doing, Ginny grabbed Apple's arm and dragged her into the corridor. "Sorry, Professor," she called over Apple's protests, and slammed the door behind them.

As soon as the door latched, Ginny dropped Apple's arm. "What is _wrong_ with you?" she asked. "You know what happened in Potions. How can you say Daphne's a good person? She's in Slytherin. Look at what she did to me! She didn't even try to tell Snape it was her fault, and she laughed when Electra was being horrible to me."

Apple stood silently through Ginny's complaint, arms crossed and face impassive. "Are you finished?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Fine," said Apple. "Daphne told me what happened. You were absolutely, inexcusably horrible to her. I don't think it was right of her to ruin your potion -- not least because it was dangerous and stupid -- but if you have any honesty, you have to realize that you started the whole thing with your prejudice against Slytherin. I can't believe you would say anything like that to her, particularly after you made her think you were her friend."

Ginny gasped. "You have it all backwards! I didn't do anything; she made me think she was my friend. And then she hurt Xanthe, and laughed at me, and was going to help Electra do something awful to me. All I did was say so! And she lost us twenty points--"

"Shut up!" shouted Apple, finally losing her aura of calm. "Look, I don't know what you have against Daphne, but you're not going to convince me you have any justification for anything. You're twisted and petty, and I wish you'd go away and leave me alone! Leave Daphne alone too -- she never did anything you didn't deserve."

Apple stormed off down the corridor, leaving Ginny to stare blankly after her. What in the name of the Founders was that about? Apple was definitely wrong. Completely wrong. Daphne must be influencing her somehow; otherwise she'd see the truth.

Ginny stalked off to the common room, hoping to find someone to listen to her troubles. She didn't feel quite up to telling Tom -- she was sure she couldn't control her anger enough to write coherently without tearing the pages of the diary.

Fortunately, the twins were lounging before the fire, amiably insulting each other and tossing ideas back and forth. Ginny flung herself onto a couch across from her brothers, still fuming, and waited for them to notice her.

Fred saw her first. "Hey Ginny," he said cheerfully. "I see you survived Snape in one piece. Congratulations!"

"In one piece, but perhaps not in the best of moods, though," said George, leaning forward. "Talk our ears off, Ginny -- you know you want to---"

"---and you're going to whether we're willing to listen or not," finished Fred with a melodramatic sigh.

Ginny opened her mouth to let loose everything that had gone wrong since leaving the Burrow... and discovered she couldn't. This wasn't anything to tell her brothers, particularly not the twins, who'd only puncture her anger as if it were one of their more half-baked ideas. She didn't want to be cheered up or mocked; she wanted commiseration.

"Never mind," she said, grabbing her bag and standing. "It's not important."

George looked askance at Fred, who shrugged. "Whatever you say, sister dearest," said George. "If you change your mind, we'll most likely still be here."

"Or you could always try Percy," added Fred, snickering.

The twins turned back to each other and resumed their discussion, spinning wild ideas for pranks against the Slytherins, accompanied by much laughter at their own impracticality.

Ginny listened to her brothers' laughter as she walked up the stairs to the girls' room, wishing she had nothing more on her mind than throwing monkey wrenches into the twins' schemes, as she and Ron used to do. However, though she couldn't talk to them, just listening had calmed her enough that she felt capable of writing to Tom. Fred and George were wonderful brothers, really, despite their many, _many_ flaws and irritating habits.

She wondered if she could get them to give her pointers on how to deal with Daphne -- then decided against it. There was no point dragging her family into a private affair, and besides, they'd never take it seriously enough.

Ginny leaned her bag against her bedpost, stacked her books neatly on the shelf under her night table, laid her quills and ink in the table's shallow drawer, and slid the now-empty bag under her bed next to her trunk. Flopping onto the bed, she slipped the diary out of her pillowcase.

"Dear Tom," she wrote. "Today was horrible. I had Double Potions in the morning, with the Slytherins. Snape, who teaches Potions, is Head of Slytherin House, and he always favors them. He's awfully nasty, too.

"But I saw Daphne again, and you were right that I should watch her. She laughed at me when Electra Summers -- a Slytherin, Snape paired me with her -- knocked over all my supplies. And then she tried to act as if she were still my friend. So I told her she wasn't acting like a friend, and she almost attacked me with a knife!"

Ginny paused for a deep breath, consciously loosening her grip on the quill. Writing wasn't calming her; instead, it was reawakening her anger and hurt. Nevertheless, she had to get everything out. "And then," she continued, "Daphne chucked something into my potion -- which I was having a hard enough time making anyhow since Electra wouldn't help at all -- and it exploded. Snape blamed me and wouldn't listen when I said it was Daphne's fault. He said it was awfully noble of me to blame others for my mistakes, gave me detention, and took twenty-five points off Gryffindor. I had to stay after to clean the room, too, and I missed lunch.

"Then after History of Magic, I asked Apple why she was still sticking up for Daphne -- and she said Daphne told her everything, and she couldn't see why I was so awful to Daphne. She said I deserved everything Daphne did!

"Tom, why is everyone against me? I can talk to the boys and Susan, but we're not really close. I can't talk to my brothers -- they'd just make jokes, or tell me to 'focus on my studies.' And Daphne turned Apple against me. What's wrong with me, Tom? What did I do wrong?"

Ginny dropped the quill on the night table and laid her head on the pillow, her hair fanning across the fading emerald ink on the diary's pages. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, blinking back a prickling, burning feeling. She would not cry; she was a Weasley and she refused to break down.

_"Ginevra, you did nothing wrong,"_ wrote Tom. Ginny rolled onto her back, holding the diary open above her face to make sure it would be safe even if she did break down and cry.

_"You're a wonderful person and I'm honored to know you. I'm honored you trust me enough to tell me everything. And I'm sorry about Daphne, both for her own actions against you and for her influence over Apple. If I could change the world so no witch ever had to suffer persecution, I would, but I'm afraid I can't."_

Ginny sniffled. She could almost feel Tom hugging her, his arms warm and solid around her shoulders, the way Bill used to do when she was sad or hurt. "Let me hug it better," he'd say, and no matter how deep her pain, somehow everything always seemed brighter afterwards.

Tom's hug was even better than Bill's.

_"I think now, more than ever, you should keep a close eye on Daphne,"_ continued Tom. _"She seems to be a classic dark Slytherin, particularly if she's this malicious to one who only points out her failings as a friend. If anything suspicious happens at Hogwarts, be especially careful around her; even if she isn't behind it, she might well be involved in dangerous activities."_

There was a brief but pregnant pause; Ginny knew instinctively that Tom wasn't finished but merely hesitating before continuing. _"If you wish,"_ he wrote, _"I can tell you some ways to show that you won't buckle under and let her walk over you. You should make that clear as soon as possible."_

Ginny rolled over and grabbed her quill. "Are you talking about revenge?" she asked.

_"I wouldn't be so blunt, but yes. If that offends or disgusts you, I'm sorry; it may only be the Slytherin in me speaking."_

Ginny grinned. Tom was so naïve sometimes, particularly about Gryffindors. He seemed to think they were all junior prefects in training, terrified of breaking rules. She'd show him, and show Daphne too.

"Tell me."

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny muttered and turned over in her sleep, clutching her pillow tightly. Through the pillowcase, the diary pressed against her palm and she sighed, dreaming.

_The princess walked slowly through the halls of the deserted castle, looking sorrowfully at the cracked and bloodstained stones. The tapestries hung in faded shreds from the walls, and the splintered window glass sent light skewing over the floors in fractured webs. But she steeled her heart against the devastation and walked on._

_The once-beautiful rooms were lined with sleeping people, struck down in their daily rounds, fallen in corners and halls. Many were bleeding or lying twisted with broken limbs. But the princess averted her eyes from the ensorcelled people, all her courtiers and servants, all her lords and ladies, and walked on._

_She was searching for the dragon._

_The dragon lived deep in the hidden heart of the castle, sleeping until the heir called in need. And now the kingdom was threatened. An evil witch had spun a web of lies over the land, darkening the hearts of the people, causing them to welcome their enemies into their midst, confusing their blood with that of the dark._

_The dragon would cleanse the land in fire._

_The princess was searching for the dragon._

Ginny woke slowly, her mind still muzzy from sleep and heavy with dreams. She grasped feebly at the fading images: a ruined castle, a princess, and a sleeping dragon... she would have sworn she'd had the same dream Friday night, and she'd never had a repeating dream before. Ginny shook herself, yawning. It was probably nothing, she decided, only brought on by living in a castle and sleeping away from home.

Susan, Jia-li, and Gwen still seemed to be asleep -- their bed curtains were drawn and closed -- but Apple's bed was made and her nightdress hung neatly from a hook on a bedpost. It was just as well she was gone, Ginny thought. After yesterday afternoon, they'd avoided each other all evening -- Ginny claiming she was tired and wanted to sleep, and Apple barricading herself in the common room, surrounded by books and parchment. They could continue avoiding each other today.

Ginny showered and dressed quickly, stuffed her books into her bag, and slipped the diary in as well. She didn't want to wait until afternoon to tell Tom how their plan for revenge worked; instead, she'd tell him just after breakfast.

Hurrying down to the Great Hall, she ran over the plan again, heart pounding in anticipation. Just before the doors, she slowed, tugged her hands through her hair, and composed herself. This wouldn't work if she appeared to have any motive for harming Daphne.

Pasting a neutral expression onto her face, Ginny pushed through the doors into the hall; a wave of cheerful noise washed over her, pooling against the closing doors. She swept a glance over the Slytherin table, spotting Daphne sitting next to her friend Ruth, their backs to the rest of the room -- specifically, sitting along the aisle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. Everyone else was concentrating on eating, it being too early for much else. Perfect.

Ginny walked casually between the two tables, heading towards a group of first year Ravenclaws at the head of their table. As she reached Daphne, she grabbed a pitcher of pumpkin juice, and dropped it sideways on the Slytherin girl's plate, letting the liquid soak her breakfast and run into her lap. Ginny continued walking forward as if nothing had happened.

By the time Daphne's furious screams caught the attention of the sleepy Professor Sinistra -- the sole inhabitant of the staff table -- Ginny was at the head of the Ravenclaw table, leaning over to ask Yukiko Izushima a question about the Astronomy charts due Wednesday. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daphne gesticulating wildly and pointing at her, but Sinistra, yawning discreetly behind a raised hand, simply shrugged and dismissed her. "I'm sorry, but I can't do anything. There's no proof."

"What do you mean no proof?" shouted Daphne. "I know she did it! She dumped pumpkin juice on me!"

"There's no proof," said Sinistra again. "Nobody saw anything. Calm down, Miss Rumluck, and don't force me to give you another detention. Go clean yourself off -- you too, Miss Gelfand -- and please refrain from spilling your breakfast in the future." Yawning again, she stumbled back to the staff table.

"Thanks," said Ginny to Yukiko, as Sinistra passed them. "I'll make sure to account for the retrograde motion of Jupiter; I think that's where I went wrong. See you tomorrow night!"

Yukiko smiled absently and returned her attention to her fruit salad. Ginny smiled inside; that had gone _perfectly_. Yukiko was the ideal alibi -- she was a Ravenclaw's Ravenclaw, and would never question anyone seeking help with schoolwork. And having Sinistra -- who was anything but a morning person, and who already disliked the Slytherin first years -- as the only available professor to hear Daphne's complaint was a stroke of pure luck.

She couldn't wait to tell Tom how well their scheme had worked.

As Ginny sat down at the Gryffindor table, Apple leaned over from several seats away. "I saw you," she said coldly. "I was watching. Be grateful I didn't say anything to Sinistra."

"Oh, you saw me, did you?" said Ginny, suddenly furious. "And I should be grateful to you? Ha. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have had to bother."

Apple frowned slightly but said only, "I hope you know what you've let yourself in for. Daphne doesn't forgive easily."

Ginny pointedly ignored Apple. Instead of responding, she buttered two pieces of toast, spread an even layer of honey on one, aligned the two slices into a sandwich, and sliced it into four triangular quarters, which she ate in precise bites. She didn't spill a single drop on her plate.

When she'd finished, Apple was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Ginny is mostly at fault for her fight with Daphne. That's the point. Protagonists are not always right just by virtue of being the protagonists, and Ginny is not a completely reliable narrator. She's human, after all, and none of us are unbiased narrators of our own lives. There are reasons for her reactions -- she's an eleven-year-old girl who has been raised with intense prejudices and has a "friend" carefully twisting her innate desire for fairness into a feeling of self-righteous persecution -- but reasons are not excuses and her actions will come back to bite her in various ways over time.


	4. Sleepwalking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Fourth: In which Ginny and Xanthe arrange a study session, Snape oozes nastiness, we discover what Apple whispered to Daphne on the train, Ginny sleepwalks, and Tom does something slightly disturbing.

Ginny got to Herbology early and wandered around Greenhouse One while she waited for the others to appear. The Gryffindors would be eating breakfast now, of course, except for Apple -- who was probably off plotting with Daphne. Where the Hufflepuffs were, Ginny had no idea.

She walked curiously around the greenhouse, which she hadn't had enough time to properly explore on Friday. Sprout kept the herbs arranged in tidy plots, neatly demarcated by narrow stone walkways. The center section was open, with a set of benches and tables for lessons, and stacks of troughs, pots, and gardening tools. Everything was green and pleasant, and comfortingly well-ordered.

On her third circuit of the greenhouse, Ginny spotted the troughs of mint they'd transplanted on Friday. They were sitting on a long, low ledge against the east wall, and the mint appeared to be thriving. Ginny smiled. Her trough was doing particularly well -- Xanthe didn't have to be worried about her marks just yet.

Hufflepuffs trailed in sporadically over the next few minutes, and Ginny perched on the end of a bench, parchment and quill ready in front of her. The Gryffindors came in together, talking loudly, except for Apple, who arrived a minute later on her own. She and Ginny glared briefly at each other before Apple sniffed and pulled Colin to one of the tables. Finally Sprout walked in, escorting Xanthe and two other Hufflepuff girls, and the class began.

This lesson was theoretical, dealing with the classification of herbs and the relation of magical plant species to non-magical species -- Sprout insisted that a thorough grounding in basic botanical theory was as necessary to a well-educated witch as any wand skills. "How else are you going to know what to use in those do-it-yourself Potions Professor Snape assigns? Well, he won't assign them until your sixth year, but never mind that -- how else are you going to learn to be a medi-wizard, if you want? How else will you know if you're buying proper ingredients for rituals? How else are you going to know what harmless Muggle species to disguise magical herbs as?"

Sprout raised her hands questioningly. Nobody responded. "You won't, that's how," she said triumphantly. "Because you need Herbology to do that! Never let anyone tell you this isn't proper magic, or that it's nothing but messing around in the dirt."

Ginny was thrilled -- there was so much more to plants than she'd ever dreamed, and she wanted to learn it _all_. As soon as she had a free hour, she was going to the library and finding some of the extra reading Sprout had mentioned on Friday. This was fascinating. And perhaps, just perhaps, it could come in handy talking to Xanthe -- if she ever managed to get the other girl away from the rest of the Hufflepuffs and set up a study session.

Ginny sighed and returned her attention to Sprout's lecture.

During the fifteen-minute break in the middle of the double lesson period, the other students walked around in groups, talking. Ginny pulled Tom's diary from her bag and, after glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention, told him about her successful revenge against Daphne.

_"That's wonderful, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom. _"Apple was right, though, that you may have to keep an even closer eye on Daphne now -- dark Slytherins are indeed prone to holding grudges. Still, I know you'll get the better of her."_

Ginny beamed. "Thanks Tom, but you know I couldn't have done it without your advice. You're a great friend."

Sprout clapped her hands to signal the end of the break, and Ginny quickly scribbled goodbye and slipped the diary away. It took her several minutes to regain her enthusiasm for botanical theory -- she wished she could have talked longer to Tom. Nevertheless, the fascination of plants won her over eventually and she was lost again in a world of green.

She loved Herbology.

After class, Ginny shoved her notes into her bag and dashed over to Xanthe, who was sitting at the other end of the lesson area with her plaited hair unraveling and her nose smudged with purple ink. "Hi," said Ginny, looking nervously at the other Hufflepuff girls, particularly Caroline -- the one who'd dragged Xanthe off last Friday. "Do you have any free time now?"

Xanthe smiled and said, "Oh, sure! We don't have History of Magic until after lunch." Turning to the other girls, she said, "I'm going for a walk with Ginny -- I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

"Okay," said Caroline, shoving her parchment into her bag. "I'll save a seat for you." She stood along with the other Hufflepuff girls and walked off towards the castle, talking and laughing.

Xanthe watched them for a moment, then grabbed Ginny's hand with her ink-stained fingers and tugged her down towards the lake. "I'm really sorry about Friday," she said, "and it wasn't even as if they dragged me off to do anything interesting, you know, just to walk around the lake. But now I know where there's a bench, so we can go there and talk. I thought about you over the weekend, you know -- and anyway, I'll need your help on that essay Professor Sprout assigned today. Merlin knows I'll never get two feet otherwise!"

"Er, okay," said Ginny, hurrying to keep up with Xanthe, who went off on a rambling description of her walk around the lake and which Hufflepuff girl had said what, accompanied by much illustrative hand waving. This soon devolved into the story of how Caroline had tried to convince everyone that her grandfather was a king in Ghana, which Xanthe flatly refused to believe.

Ginny listened absently -- occasionally ducking Xanthe's wilder gestures -- but mostly absorbing the scenery. The Hogwarts grounds were beautiful, in a partially tamed fashion. The Forbidden Forest loomed darkly at the edge of the grounds, and calmer, more gracious trees lined the paths around the lake, often arching overhead to shelter students in green-tinged shade.

It would be splendid when the leaves turned, thought Ginny.

"And _then_ I told Caroline that my Aunt Psyche had lived in Benin for five years--" said Xanthe, flinging her hand upward before suddenly breaking off. "Oh, here we are! Anyway, I'll tell you about my Aunt Psyche later -- what do you think?" She waved at the water's edge, smiling proudly. A stand of young oaks clustered just ahead of them, and right against the shore a gnarled willow trailed its branches into the water, their tips rising and falling gently as tiny waves lapped against the narrow, stony beach. A bench was set against the willow's trunk, nearly hidden by the curtaining leaves.

"It's lovely," said Ginny happily, "like a secret world."

"I know," said Xanthe. "I made sure Caroline didn't spot it when we walked past, or I'd never have been able to get away from her, ever. She's awfully nice, but she can be a bit overwhelming -- you know how it is."

"Yeah," said Ginny fervently, thinking of Susan and Hermione.

The two girls sat on the bench, dropping their bags onto the moss, and looked at each other, wondering where to begin.

Xanthe spoke first. "Er," she began, then trailed off. After a brief pause she tried again. "I hope I didn't just drive you away forever, going on about Caroline. I do want to be your friend, you know -- you're nice -- and I'm _never_ going to get through Herbology without help -- so just tell me when I'm being an idiot and I promise I'll shut up. I've had tons of practice shutting up."

"I didn't mind, really," said Ginny, though privately she _had_ wished Xanthe would shut up about Caroline's grandfather. Hastily she changed the subject. "How was your weekend?"

"Oh!" said Xanthe, and rushed into a jumbled account of everything she, Caroline, and someone called Anne Wilkinson had done in the past few days. It sounded vastly more interesting than Ginny's own weekend, which had consisted mostly of reading, writing essays, and trailing around after Harry, Ron, and Hermione, or Susan and the boys. In fact, it sounded rather like what Ginny imagined Ron's first year to have been, or the things she and Sarah Peasegood used to do in Ottery St. Catchpole.

"So what did you do?" Xanthe asked suddenly, after tumbling through a breathless rendition of Caroline's narrow escape from Filch, by means of a moving staircase.

"Not much," said Ginny. "Settled in a bit, read up for Transfiguration, told jokes with Susan and the boys -- which does _not_ include Colin Creevey, by the way -- he's a twit. Did you know he's been hanging around Harry Potter all the time, taking pictures? He's practically a stalker. And he thinks Lockhart -- that horrible, slimy git -- is wonderful!"

Ginny paused, struck by a sudden worry. "Er, you don't think so too, do you?" Oh, please let Xanthe not be in love with Lockhart -- Ginny didn't think she could stomach another girl going misty-eyed over that... that cretin.

Xanthe stared at her. "Love of light, no!" she exclaimed. "The man's an _idiot_ \-- I should tell you what he did to us yesterday morning. Or rather, I shouldn't, because it was just too embarrassing for words -- in fact, I've completely blocked it from my memory -- Dark Arts, what Dark Arts? -- I don't know a thing about that subject." She cleared her throat hastily. "That would be a no, just so we're clear on that."

"Oh, good," said Ginny, greatly relieved.

"Yeah," agreed Xanthe. "However, Anne thinks he's absolutely perfect and Caroline's almost as bad, so I wouldn't say anything about him when they're around, if I were you."

"Of course," said Ginny, grinning. "Susan, Gwen, and Jia-li are all giggly over him, and Apple's not speaking to me anymore, so I'm awfully glad you see through him, too." She grimaced. "It got kind of icky listening to them after our lesson Friday morning."

"I bet Caroline and Anne were worse. Yecch," said Xanthe, and shuddered theatrically. "Anyway, you said we should meet on weekends to study, which I think is a marvelous idea, particularly since I know I'll fail Herbology otherwise -- Caroline and Anne aren't any help at all -- and you said you had trouble with Astronomy. So... when and where?"

Ginny blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. "Well, I thought Saturday afternoon," she said, "maybe one o'clock? In the library?"

"Great!" said Xanthe. "I'll meet you in the library, then, and I'll bring my Astronomy charts with me. I don't know what you're doing, but it can't be too different, right?"

"Right."

"Now that that's settled, do you want to keep talking here, or walk some more?" asked Xanthe.

Ginny glanced at her watch, squinting to read the time through the chipped face. Oh, toad guts -- it was almost eleven already. "I have to get back," she said, scrambling to her feet. "I'm going to be late for Charms."

"Whoops!" said Xanthe. "We'd better rush, then. I'd hate for you to disappoint Flitwick -- he's too nice for that."

Ginny made a noncommittal noise, already running towards the castle. Xanthe charged after her, and the two girls raced along the shore, their footsteps falling in unison on the lightly graveled path.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny did reach the Charms classroom on time -- barely -- which seemed to set a pattern for the rest of the week. She felt she was only keeping herself above water with tremendous effort, and doing so against great odds.

The first of her problems was Snape, who had indeed taken a dislike to her. When she arrived at the Potions dungeon for her detention, he glared at her from behind his desk where he was grading essays. "You're two minutes late, Miss Weasley," he said.

"Sorry, sir," muttered Ginny, figuring it was useless to come up with an excuse. The truth -- that she would rather have been eaten by a dragon than be in the dungeons with Snape -- probably wouldn't go over very well either.

"I trust you won't be late for your lesson next week," said Snape, putting aside his papers and rising. "Come here. Stick out your hands."

Ginny walked to the desk and held her hands forward. Snape examined them, frowning. "Thin fingers, yes, but the nails -- woefully ragged -- they'll snag on everything," he muttered. "Nevertheless, you'll have to do."

He snapped his gaze up to Ginny's face. "Miss Weasley," he said, "you will spend your evening stringing swallowtail butterfly chrysalises onto raw silk thread. Fix each chrysalis in place with a knot, leaving precisely one quarter inch of thread between each chrysalis and the next. Stop after thirty-seven chrysalises, make a loop, and cut the thread. If you crush a single chrysalis, start the string over. I need at least twenty strings for tomorrow." He smiled mirthlessly at Ginny's horrorstruck expression.

"Begin."

Three hours, twenty-five strings, and nearly a hundred shattered chrysalises later, Ginny escaped to Gryffindor tower -- fortunately with a note to stave off Filch. The other girls were long since asleep when she crept into their room.

"They might have waited to find out how I was," she whispered to herself as she changed into her nightdress. "Some friends they are."

Susan snored and rolled over in her sleep.

Ginny wriggled under her covers and pulled the diary from her pillowcase. "Dear Tom, detention was awful," she wrote. "Snape made me string butterfly chrysalises on silk thread, and if I crushed one, or broke a bit off, I had to start the whole thread over. I was there for hours, and he sat at his desk the whole time, just oozing nastiness at me. It was creepy!"

_"Creepy or not, you seem to have survived, Ginevra,"_ responded Tom, a hint of laughter suffusing his writing. _"His bark is probably much worse than his bite. Remember, he's a professor -- if he did anything truly despicable, he'd be out of a job and probably taken to court as well. Think of that the next time he -- as you so eloquently put it -- oozes nastiness at you."_

Ginny grinned. "Are you teasing me, Tom?"

_"I?"_

"Yes you. Who else am I writing to?"

_"You must be mistaken. I wouldn't dream of taking over your brothers' job. I'm only your occasional friend, after all."_

"You're not an occasional friend," wrote Ginny hurriedly. "You're my best friend! I'm awfully glad I got your diary, otherwise I'd be so lonely here."

There was a slight pause. _"You really think of me as your best friend?"_ asked Tom.

"Of course! You always listen to me, you help me out, you tell me stories, and I like you."

There was another pause, and Tom's handwriting seemed slightly awkward when he finally responded. _"I -- well -- thank you, Ginevra. I'm honored that you consider me such a good friend. I'll try to be worthy of your trust."_ Tom hesitated, as if to draw a breath; Ginny waited for him to write again, not wanting to be rude and interrupt.

_"Now, isn't it a bit late for you to be up?"_

Ginny groaned, feeling the grin in Tom's words. "Not you too," she wrote. "Just because you're a few years older than I am -- and spent Merlin knows how long shut up in a diary -- doesn't mean you're my mum!"

Tom refused to dignify this with a response.

Ginny sighed in defeat. "Oh, all right," she wrote. "You're right. Good night, Tom."

_"Good night, Ginevra. Pleasant dreams."_

Ginny didn't know that she'd classify her dreams as pleasant, but they were, at least, not unpleasant. She dreamed of a silk scarf winding around and around her neck and arms, the fabric whispering softly against her skin. She dreamed of a pillared chamber underground, filled with crackling magic. And she dreamed again of the princess in the ruined castle, looking for the dragon.

Recurring dreams were annoying, she decided the next morning. If only the princess would _find_ the blasted dragon, maybe she'd be able to have done with the dream.

\---------------------------------------------

The rest of the week passed quickly enough, despite Ginny's niggling feeling that she was somehow falling behind and missing things. She spent her free time -- after classes and homework -- exploring the castle and talking to Tom, often at the same time. She'd describe a corridor to him and he'd try to match it with his memories, or he'd tell her about a room that had once held interesting enchanted objects or chatty portraits and she'd try to find her way there.

Saturday she woke feeling unaccountably nervous -- before she remembered she had to meet Xanthe after lunch. She prepared furiously, reading the assigned pages of the Herbology text three times, and several other sections once. Lunch was a hurried affair before she rushed off to the library to gather any books that might be relevant to their essay. Really, why only discuss the relationship between magical and Muggle plant classification systems when she could also write about the history of plant classification and the difficulties the concealment of magical plants created for Muggle botanists? Besides, the extra material might help Xanthe.

Ginny was determined to give fair value for Xanthe's time. Besides, she really did need Xanthe's help with Astronomy. She simply didn't have the maths to make sense of star paths, and how people saw pictures -- magically significant pictures, at that -- in the scattered mess of the night sky was beyond her. Wednesday night's lesson had made that painfully clear.

Xanthe found her at a table in the back corner of the library, surrounded by stacks of books and scribbling notes on a closely-written roll of parchment.

"Wow," she said, startling Ginny. "You're really serious about studying, aren't you? You know, more and more, I'm thinking this was a really good idea."

"Oh," said Ginny. "I guess so. Er -- let me clear some space for you. And hello."

"Oh yeah, hello," said Xanthe, sitting across from Ginny and dropping her bag onto the table. She'd left her robes open, revealing a rumpled blouse and skirt, and her hair was pulled into a sloppy bun held by two knitting needles. Ginny made a small face at the other girl's appearance; even her brothers were tidier than that. Well. Except Ron.

"I didn't bring much," said Xanthe apologetically, "but then I'm not sure what you're doing in Astronomy so I didn't know what to bring. Sorry about that."

"It's okay," said Ginny. "Where do you want to start?"

"Herbology, of course! After you've gone to all this trouble, I don't want to waste your time! So start from the beginning and we'll see how far you get before we realize why I'm in Hufflepuff instead of Ravenclaw."

Ginny frowned. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"If you said it, I'd be angry, but I'm in Hufflepuff. It's different if I say it." Xanthe shrugged. "It's a Hufflepuff thing, you know. We're a family -- we look out for each other -- because everyone else thinks like that, even if they don't say it. I bet you didn't want to be a Hufflepuff, even if you don't like hearing us bad-mouthed."

"No, I did want to be in Hufflepuff," said Ginny. "Well, if I couldn't get into Gryffindor."

"See? Second-best, always," said Xanthe, sounding oddly cheerful about it. "I wanted to be in Ravenclaw -- you saw how upset I was at the Sorting. But that's not the point. The _point_ is that I don't understand a thing about this classification system and I need to understand so I can write two feet for Sprout by Friday. So start talking."

Ginny flushed, embarrassed, and sorted through her parchment for the first sheet. She started talking -- pausing occasionally to answer Xanthe's questions -- and was startled to realize that nearly two hours had passed by the time they'd got through her notes and several of the additional books as well.

"So what's next?" asked Xanthe, when Ginny trailed off.

"I have no idea. We finished the assignment a while ago, actually -- we just kept going. It's almost three and we haven't even started Astronomy," said Ginny.

Xanthe blinked and pulled a silver watch from her skirt pocket. "By the Founders, it is!" she said. "Wow. Sorry -- I had no idea we'd gone on so long. You just made everything seem so interesting, you know? I actually understood it."

Ginny flushed. "Er--" she said.

Xanthe was looking down, fishing around in her bag, and didn't notice. "We'd better start on Astronomy, then, before it's time for dinner," she said. "Get out whatever you're doing -- and some spare parchment -- and we'll see if I'm as good a teacher as you are."

The next hour made Ginny's head ache, but by the end she was reasonably sure her homework was in shape for next Wednesday and she'd be able to pick out the stars of various constellations -- though she still didn't see how they made pictures. Xanthe, however, had reached incredible heights of frustration.

"I don't see how you make this so difficult!" she'd said repeatedly. "It's so _simple_ \-- you just..." and then she was off onto another explanation that assumed Ginny knew things she didn't, and could make the same leaps of logic that Xanthe could.

"Now we know I'm never going to be a teacher," said Xanthe as she closed her book with relief. "Love of light, I don't see how you kept your patience with me for two hours when I'm sure I'm worse at Herbology than you are at Astronomy. You're not half as bad as you think you are, you know."

Ginny shrugged. "I'll be all right for this week, anyhow. Do you want to keep this up or is it too frustrating for you?"

Xanthe shot her an exaggerated look of disbelief. "Of course I want to keep it up!" she said. "I want to pass Herbology, don't I? Besides, I like talking to you."

"Really?" asked Ginny, surprised.

"Yes really. You're nice. And Caroline just drives me batty sometimes -- you don't."

"Oh."

Xanthe laughed. "Anyone would think you'd never had a friend before," she said. "Silly Ginny -- why wouldn't anyone like you? Anyway, I have to get back to the common room before dinner -- I need to put away my books and find Caroline and Anne -- and you probably want to get back to your other friends too. See you around?"

Ginny smiled. "Yeah. I'll see you."

Xanthe walked away humming, her bun half unwound from the times she'd grabbed her hair in frustration, and her bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. Ginny grinned as she watched her new friend. Xanthe was awfully nice, even if she was a terrible mess and wasn't much good at explaining things.

She pulled the diary from her bag, intending to tell Tom all about her afternoon. "Dear Tom, I just finished studying with Xanthe -- you remember her, from Hufflepuff -- and it went really well," she wrote, and then paused. Did she really want to tell Tom everything she and Xanthe had talked about? That felt... wrong, somehow. She hadn't told Xanthe about Tom, so why should she tell Tom about Xanthe?

_"That's good to hear, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom. _"Have you made progress towards friendship, or is this still strictly a business relationship?"_

"Mostly we just studied," wrote Ginny, suddenly tired, as if the past hours were crashing down on her all at once. "We talked a little about how nobody wants to be in Hufflepuff, but that was all." She didn't need to say that Xanthe liked talking to her, or that Xanthe thought she was nice. That wasn't important -- and, well, what if Tom were jealous? She didn't want to lose her best friend for someone she only saw once or twice a week.

_"Perhaps you'll get to be friends in the future,"_ wrote Tom. _"You've made a good start at any rate, and I'm always here if you need to talk."_

Ginny smiled, back on safer ground. "Thanks Tom. I'm glad you're here -- you always understand, and I'm awfully glad to have you to talk to -- it's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket."

_"I see,"_ wrote Tom, a smile in his words. _"Relegated to your pocket, am I? Well, off to the pocket for me, then, and you should be getting back to your common room."_

"Bye Tom."

Ginny slipped the diary back into her bag and gathered her scattered rolls of parchment into something approximating order. Dropping the extra Herbology texts on Madam Pince's desk, she escaped back to Gryffindor tower to rest.

\---------------------------------------------

Next Saturday, Ginny and Xanthe's plans to meet were disrupted by the Gryffindors' first flying lesson -- with the Slytherins. Ginny had forgotten all about it until Gwen reminded everyone Friday morning -- "Flying tomorrow!" she cried, glancing over her schedule at breakfast. "Finally, something fun! C'mon, it'll be almost as good as Quidditch."

Jia-li groaned, and Ginny hissed in irritation when she realized the lesson was scheduled from noon until three. Was the whole world against her?

She grabbed Xanthe as soon as the other girl arrived at the greenhouses after lunch and told her. "Oh well," said Xanthe, shrugging, "you know, I'd forgotten all about our first flying lesson too -- I think it's next Wednesday, with the Ravenclaws. Let's meet after dinner instead -- how about six-thirty?"

"Er, fine," said Ginny, and Xanthe went to grab some trowels in preparation for the afternoon's lesson. Maybe Tom was right about inter-house friendships, thought Ginny -- Xanthe would have been much more upset if Caroline or Anne canceled a meeting.

Saturday morning the Gryffindors ate a late brunch and trooped out to the entrance hall to wait for Madam Hooch, the flying instructor. The Slytherins were already gathered on one side of the hall, and the Gryffindors stood to the other side of the door. Five minutes before noon, Madam Hooch strode briskly from the staff room, broom in hand, and nodded at the class.

"Down to the lawn -- follow me," she said, and strode out the door.

On the lawn, twenty somewhat battered broomsticks were laid in two neat rows facing each other. "Everyone pick a broom. Stand by it, and do _nothing more_ until I give the word," said Madam Hooch, raking the class with her odd yellow eyes.

The Slytherins took one row and the Gryffindors the other, watching each other warily -- except for Apple and Daphne, who stood next to each other at the end of the Gryffindor row, whispering back and forth. Ginny -- who'd ended up sandwiched between Apple and Colin -- stared coldly at them.

"On my word, stick your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!" called Madam Hooch. "And then _stand still_ , doing _nothing_ , until I say otherwise.

"Mark!"

The class shouted "Up!" in ragged unison. Ginny's broom rose smoothly into her hand, and she grinned. Six Quidditch-mad brothers were finally good for something, even if they hadn't known they were lending her their brooms. Most of the other first years weren't nearly so well-off. Daphne's broom snapped into her hand with a nasty crack, while Apple's twitched uncertainly, floating a foot and a half below her hand. Colin's simply rolled over on the ground.

Ginny felt smug.

"Very good!" barked Madam Hooch. "If your broom is still on the ground, pick it up and hold it in the ready position; it should float automatically. Now watch while I demonstrate the proper way to mount a broom. And _stay still_."

"Why does she keep telling us not to move?" asked Colin, leaning over to whisper in Ginny's ear.

"Because of what happened last year," said Ginny. "Neville Longbottom -- a year ahead of us -- pushed off too soon, fell from twenty feet up, and broke his arm. She had to take him to the hospital wing. Things got out of hand while she was away."

"Oh," said Colin, looking impressed.

"Shouldn't you know that?" asked Ginny, suddenly irritated. "It was because of that mess that Harry Potter's on the Quidditch team. I thought you knew everything about Harry."

"I don't yet, but I will," said Colin, with perfect seriousness. "Will you tell me the story?"

"No," said Ginny, and turned away. Merlin's beard, the boy was a twit -- and creepy to boot.

Madam Hooch was now walking along the rows, helping students mount their brooms, checking their seats, and correcting their grips. She barked a few words of praise at Ginny, who again felt smug, particularly when Madam Hooch verbally ripped Colin's seat to shreds immediately thereafter.

Take that, Mr. Colin I-Stalk-Harry-Potter Creevey!

Madam Hooch stood between the lines of mounted students and pulled a whistle from her robes. "When I blow the whistle, kick off from the ground, hard," she said. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. Whatever else you do, _remain calm_. Don't angle the broom sharply either up or down. On my whistle -- three -- two -- one --"

TWEET!

Ginny kicked off just as she'd done hundreds of times at home, rose five feet in the air, and hovered gently. Colin, however, was drifting further up and wavering madly, tipping back and forth in a desperate attempt to keep his balance. "Hey!" said Ginny, rising to his side. She stuck her arm out to steady him; he grabbed hold like a drowning man.

"It's all right, I have you," she said. Please don't let him panic, please... "Here, lean forward just a bit and we'll go down together. Slowly. On three, okay? One -- two -- no, not that far forward!"

Colin pitched forward, crashing to the ground and dragging Ginny with him. His broom handle plowed into the dirt, swaying drunkenly, while Ginny's broom lay quietly on the ground, tangled between her legs.

Ginny twitched her fingers experimentally. "Ow." She seemed to be on her back, and something was digging into her thigh.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry!" squeaked Colin, picking himself up and frantically patting her shoulders. "Are you all right? Are you hurt? Is anything broken?" Ginny blinked, steadying her vision, and groaned -- why did he come out without a scratch while she was in pain? Stupid twit -- see if she rescued him next time. And he was still babbling!

Ginny waved her fingers at him. "'M fine, go 'way. Just -- catch my breath."

"Oh." Colin rocked back on his heels. "I'm sorry!"

Suddenly Madam Hooch appeared in a swirl of black robes. "What happened? Are you hurt, girl?" She prodded roughly at Ginny's collarbone.

"I'm fine!" Ginny insisted, batting at the teacher's hands. "I just lost my breath when we hit. Go check on Colin -- he's the one who crashed us -- I was only trying to help."

Madam Hooch hauled Ginny to her feet and advanced on Colin, who squeaked again and started babbling a disjointed explanation. Taking advantage of her position behind Madam Hooch's back, Ginny grinned and stuck out her tongue at Colin. He paled further.

Once Madam Hooch straightened out the mess of the first flight -- "Nothing terribly unusual, only to be expected," she said, shooting disapproving glares at several students -- she fetched her own broom for a practical demonstration of flight. "After I demonstrate, you'll try this again. And for Merlin's sake, this time _don't panic!_ " She mounted her broom, pointedly checked her grip, and took a deep breath. Ginny thought she heard a muttered, "Next year I swear I'll do this first," before Madam Hooch kicked off, but she wasn't quite sure.

Rising six feet into the air, Madam Hooch hovered for a few seconds before deliberately wobbling back and forth. "If you have trouble balancing in the air, the important thing is not to panic," she said, as she tilted left at an alarming angle. "If you panic, you're likely to tilt the broom up or down and lean forward -- which is the last thing you want to do!" She wrenched herself violently to the right, exacerbating the wobble. "That will send you shooting into the sky or crashing into the ground -- at high speed. Instead, just sit back onto the Cushioning Charm and relax."

Madam Hooch settled back onto her broom, letting the rocking motion die out naturally. "Remember -- don't overcompensate for a tilt -- that only increases the problem in the other direction and sets up a wobble. In other words, don't do what I was doing!

"Now, you'll try flying again, one at a time, so I can keep an eye on you. White, you first." She turned to face the Slytherins, pointing at the pudgy boy at the line's end. The class swung to stare at him; he flinched. "Mount your broom, check your grip, and kick off gently, on my whistle. Three -- two -- one --"

As Madam Hooch blew her whistle, three things happened at once. The pudgy boy wobbled into the air, a jet of purple flame shot at Madam Hooch's broom, and a voice to Ginny's left yelled, "Help! Attack! Run for your lives, _it's You-Know-Who!_ "

General panic ensued.

Several students jumped onto their brooms and fled in all directions. Others followed on foot. A few stood petrified, staring at Madam Hooch's merrily blazing broom. Madam Hooch herself spun frantically in the air, trying to figure out what was going on, protect her students, and put out her broom, all at the same time.

Suddenly realizing she wasn't dead, Ginny blinked and closed her mouth, searching for any signs of an attack. Beyond the fire and her fleeing classmates, there were none. And somebody to her left was... laughing? Not a man, not a monster, but a girl...

Ginny turned her broom and stared coldly at Daphne, who had collapsed with laughter. Apple stood over her cousin, shaking her head with rueful amusement. That-- that utter-- that horrible-- _Daphne_ had pretended that You-Know-Who was attacking? And she'd set fire to Madam Hooch's broom? And she didn't care that everyone was running, and would probably get in trouble, and that the other professors would come out to fight off You-Know-Who, and...

Madam Hooch stormed over, scorched broom clutched tightly in her left hand, wand in her right. "Rumluck! And Rumluck! Both of you, to my office _now_." She whirled and pointed her wand at Ginny, who flinched. "Weasley! Class is cancelled. Gather the remaining students, take them to the castle, and explain to them that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't here, wasn't here, and won't be here -- it was a dangerous joke on the part of the Rumluck girls. I'll inform the Headmaster and suitable measures will be taken."

She seized Daphne and Apple by the necks of their robes and marched up the lawns to the castle. Ginny blinked, then slowly smiled. Well. It seemed Daphne would be punished for this, at least -- it almost made up for the first Potions lesson.

She rose a few feet and looked around the lawn. Two Slytherin girls sat huddled against each other, Susan hovered several yards away on her broom, and Colin stood stone-still nearby, hands working through the air and lips moving silently. Ginny waved to Susan. "Susan, Madam Hooch wants us to find everyone and tell them class is cancelled. You-Know-Who wasn't here; it was just Daphne and Apple playing a trick. Can you go get those two up?" She pointed at the huddled girls, and Susan nodded, drifting slowly over and downwards.

Ginny landed and snapped her fingers in Colin's face. He blinked and turned to her, eyes glowing with excitement. "Did you see that?" he demanded. "Did you see? How the broom caught fire? How everyone flew away? I wish I'd had my camera! And if You-Know-Who had been here? And Harry Potter had come to face him? Oh, I _wish_ I'd had my camera!"

"Colin. Calm down. Nothing happened, it's all over, and class is cancelled. We have to get back to the common room," said Ginny.

Colin sighed. "Oh, all right. But wasn't it amazing?"

"No it wasn't," snapped Ginny, losing all patience with the idiot. "It was scary and stupid and dangerous, and I hope Daphne and Apple get in loads of trouble -- even if it does lose us points -- and if You-Know-Who had been here, we'd all be dead, whether or not you'd had your camera. Now go on -- I have to look for everyone else." Ginny shoved Colin toward the castle and watched for nearly a minute to make sure he was really going inside.

Susan had bullied the Slytherin girls into standing up and was leading them up the lawn -- she winked at Ginny as they passed. Ginny smiled back. "Thanks Susan!" she called.

Sighing, she prepared to look for anyone who'd flown away from the castle. Bother Madam Hooch for making her responsible. Bother Apple for going along with Daphne -- Ginny was sure the joke had been Daphne's idea. And she was going to _hex_ Daphne the next time she saw her.

Ginny kicked off again and flew slowly across the grounds, peering through the trees for her classmates. She smiled mirthlessly -- Apple was going to be in so much trouble when her classmates saw her again.

Dinner that evening was a tense affair for the Gryffindors, particularly when neither Apple nor Daphne appeared in the Great Hall. "Perhaps they've been expelled," suggested Jia-li as she ladled gravy onto her baked potato.

"Nah," said Susan, "probably just in detention for the rest of their lives. And I'm going to kill her when she gets back." Murmurs of agreement rose from the other first years.

Ginny remained distracted and angry through her after-dinner study session with Xanthe, to the point where the other girl broke the meeting off early, saying Ginny was never going to learn anything useful in _that_ mood, and she'd see her later. Ginny felt a momentary twinge of conscience, but when she reached the common room and walked in on a discussion of various ways to vivisect Apple, she forgot her worry.

When Apple finally returned from detention late that evening, sweaty and disheveled, the first years confronted her in an angry group, closing in on her near the stairway to the girls' dorms. "What were you _thinking?_ " Susan asked, waving her hands dangerously close to Apple's face. "You could have gotten someone killed!"

Apple waited silently through the scolding and accusations, clutching her long plait to her chest. "It wasn't my idea," she said finally -- and held up a hand to forestall protests -- "but it was my fault. I bet Daphne on the train that she couldn't cause truly spectacular mayhem in every class within the first two weeks of fall term, and she wanted to prove me wrong. I had no idea she'd go that far, however -- it was dangerous and stupid -- and you have my sincere apologies.

"Now may I go to bed? I've been scrubbing bathrooms for six hours, with no dinner, and I'm exhausted."

She pushed through the crowd, forcing people to shuffle out of her way, until she reached the doorway to the staircase. Jasper slid over to block her path, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl fixed on his face. "Let me through, dimwit," said Apple. "I'm too tired to argue."

Jasper eyed her consideringly, then suddenly grinned. "You stink," he said cheerfully. "You absolutely reek of moldy bathrooms, and you deserve it. You're also stupid and stuck-up, but you have good ideas and your cousin is cool -- even if she's a Slytherin and she made me run like a baby this afternoon. It _was_ funny."

He stepped aside and waved her up the stairs. Apple stared blankly at him for a moment, then stumbled forward and through the doorway. "Idiot," she said, and vanished around the curve in the staircase.

Ginny clenched her hands furiously. How did Apple get away so easily, after what she and Daphne had done? Particularly since Apple wouldn't forgive Ginny for defending herself against Daphne? Jasper didn't even mind that she'd called him a dimwit!

It wasn't fair!

Ginny trailed up the stairs after the other girls, tuning out their conversation. Mechanically she slipped into her nightdress, brushed her teeth, and wriggled under her covers, dropping her head into her pillow. She was nearly asleep -- angry thoughts still chasing themselves in circles through her mind -- before her hand slid under the pillow and brushed against the diary, a tingling jolt of energy jumping between the cover and her fingers.

Ginny yanked the diary from under her pillow and stuck her head through the bed curtains, checking for observers. The other four girls seemed to be asleep, so she snaked her wand, quill, and ink off the night table and into her safely enclosed bed. A whispered " _Lumos_ " filled the curtained space with a soft glow, just enough to read by.

"Dear Tom, you'll never guess what happened today," wrote Ginny. "We had our first flying lesson, and first of all, Colin Creevey -- the twit -- crashed me into the ground when I tried to help him get down from our first flight. But that's not the really interesting part.

"After lots of people crashed, Madam Hooch decided we should fly one at a time. When she blew her whistle for the first boy to try, her broom caught fire and somebody yelled that You-Know-Who was attacking! Everyone panicked, but it turned out it was just Daphne playing a joke. Ha ha. Only Apple thought it was funny -- she stood there all prim and trying not to laugh, instead of telling people it was a fake." Ginny paused and shook the tension out of her hand before continuing -- she always pressed too hard when she was angry or upset.

"I got stuck rounding everyone up and telling them it was safe, while Madam Hooch took Daphne and Apple off to be punished. It took me an hour to find everyone, and I was so mad Xanthe walked out on me this evening; she said I wasn't going to learn anything with the mood I was in. And then -- when Apple finally got back -- instead of throwing her out, the others just yelled a little and forgave her. Where do they get off forgiving her when she's still mad at me even though the explosion in Potions was Daphne's fault?

"Tom, I don't know, talk to me. Make it make sense. Please?"

_"Ginevra, I would love to make the world logical for you, but I'm afraid that's a bit beyond anyone's power,"_ wrote Tom. _"All I can say is that this seems like common behavior for children -- which you must remember your classmates are. They are as quick to forgive and forget as they are to anger. You shouldn't blame them for acting according to their natures._

_"Instead, you should be proud of yourself for keeping your head well enough that a teacher gave you the responsibility of finding and calming your classmates. If your fellow Gryffindors didn't notice or care, perhaps that's not a bad thing. The popular and openly powerful are easy targets for resentment. Those who are quieter often have more true power and influence, and are better liked as well._

_"I'm proud of you, Ginevra."_

Ginny smiled. "Thanks Tom. I'll keep that in mind. I'm still glad Apple had to spend hours cleaning bathrooms, though."

_"As am I,"_ wrote Tom, his handwriting taking a lighter cast. _"Nobody should get away with insulting or hurting you, Ginevra. You're too special for that. Now say goodnight; you need your sleep."_

Ginny sighed -- Tom was so overprotective sometimes -- but she loved knowing that he cared. "Goodnight Tom," she wrote.

_"Goodnight Ginevra. Pleasant dreams."_

Ginny closed the diary and pushed the quill and ink bottle away. She stroked the battered cover of the book lovingly before slipping it back under her pillow and whispering, " _Nox_." The light blinked out, and she tugged her quilt around her chin, one hand lightly resting on the diary as she slid into sleep.

The princess searched for the dragon again that night.

\---------------------------------------------

After Jasper's admission, it was hard for the first years to keep up the full traditional animosity toward their Slytherin counterparts, particularly Daphne and her friend Ruth. Susan declared Daphne a kindred spirit, and made sure she and Apple sat near the Slytherin pair in Potions.

Ginny was happy to have Daphne distracted, but disgruntled by the desertion of her housemates. They were supposed to support _her_ , not Daphne. Didn't they notice how Daphne stirred up Electra before Potions -- and drew Snape's attention to every mistake Electra made, by blaming it on Ginny?

Apparently they didn't. If she hadn't had someone to talk to, Ginny confided to Tom, she probably would have gone mad.

Her mood was further soured by the incessant rain that plagued early October, and the cold she caught at her third flying lesson. Percy found her sniffling in the common room the next day, hauled her to the hospital wing, and bullied her into taking Pepperup potion every morning for a week.

The smoke drifting from her ears, combined with her Weasley hair, made her head look like a miniature bonfire. Ginny refused to look up from her feet, but she could practically feel everyone snickering as she walked past, even her brothers. Ron even pointed her out to Harry and Hermione one morning -- if Harry hadn't been there, she would have smacked him, favorite brother or not. Instead, she flushed like a tomato, making herself look even sillier.

Ginny was not happy. At all.

She managed to avoid Percy on Sunday and hoped she might escape on Monday as well, but he caught her at breakfast and dragged her off to the infirmary. "I'm fine!" she protested. "Really. I've been taking potion for a week now, and I'm not sniffling. Let go of me!"

Percy renewed his grip on her arm and frowned at her. "You are not fine. You're too pale, you've been pale all week, and I don't want to have to tell Mum I let you catch a fever. Act your age."

Oh, so _now_ he was willing to pay attention to her, thought Ginny, as Percy banged open the door of the hospital wing. Did her brothers care if she was lonely? Did they care if she wanted to spend time with them? Of course not. But let her look the slightest bit pale or tired, and it was "Take your potion, Ginny -- you're our responsibility and we're afraid of Mum." Wankers.

Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, was measuring out potion to a crowd of coughing, sniffling, shivering students -- and Professor Flitwick, who seemed in danger of flying across the room with the force of his sneezes. "Oh, you again," she said as she came to Ginny. "You still look a bit peaked -- make sure you get enough rest. Swallow now." She popped a spoonful of potion into Ginny's mouth, tipped it down her throat with the ease of long practice, and moved on to the next patient.

Ginny looked around for Percy, intending to slap him, but he was already striding out the door, no doubt in search of more first years to bother. Smoke poured from her ears, itching and tickling, and she pushed her way out of the hazy infirmary. If Percy had made her late for Potions he was going to die -- there was no way on earth she was going to walk into Potions late, with her ears smoking, and face both Snape and Daphne.

She wound her way through the castle, absent-mindedly avoiding trick steps, riding staircases as they creaked and swung through the cavernous stairwells, and waving hello to the friendlier portraits. The routine was calming, and by the time she reached Snape's dungeon classroom, Ginny felt ready to face anything the Slytherins might throw at her. She squared her shoulders and walked into the room.

Susan looked up from her ingredients and smiled. "Ginny! I like the new look -- very dramatic, all fire and brimstone. Better luck avoiding Percy tomorrow."

"I hate him," said Ginny, dropping her bag to the floor and leaning against her worktable. "I really, truly hate him. He wouldn't have anything to do with me all September, but I sneeze once and suddenly I can't get rid of him! He's an utter prat."

Susan sighed sympathetically and patted Ginny's shoulder. "Such is life," she said. "Such are brothers. Still, now you know for certain he'd miss you if you died!"

"Some comfort you are," grumbled Ginny, pushing Susan's hand away.

"Of course -- and for no cost, too." Susan looked up and grimaced. "Hey, Electra's coming in. I have to set up my things for the lesson. Talk later?"

"Yeah," said Ginny, glaring at her partner, who was talking with her friends on the other side of the room. She'd hoped Snape would decide the pairing wasn't productive, but unfortunately Ginny was good enough at Potions to scrape through despite Electra's indifference and Daphne's occasional meddling. And Snape attributed all their successes to Electra and took points off Ginny every week!

Ginny seethed, the rush of heat to her face forcing more smoke out of her ears. She squirmed in her seat, wishing it the smoke didn't tickle so much.

"Looking good, Weasley -- the smoke haze around your ears? -- it's definitely you." Daphne's amused voice snapped Ginny back to herself. "Feeling weak this morning, were you? You do look dreadfully pale -- perhaps Hogwarts is too much for you. Are you sure you're keeping up with everything?"

"I'm fine," snapped Ginny. "And I'd spend less time worrying about my marks and more about your own, if I were you -- you don't learn much just chucking messes into my potions."

Daphne fiddled with one of her hair-clips, looking innocent. "Me, put things in your potions? I don't need to do anything at all -- you spoil things all by yourself, Weasley. For instance, I was only asking after your health as a concerned fellow student -- you're the one who snapped at me. Now be a dear and let me set up in peace, mmm?"

"Toad-licker," Ginny muttered under her breath, setting out her supplies with more force than strictly necessary. "Blood-sucking, bilious, scabrous... erm... pestilent, toad-licking scum." She glanced up as Electra sat down beside her, having left her friends at their table. "Good morning, Electra."

"Good morning, Weasley -- I love the smoke, by the way; it goes so well with your hair. Snape's marking us on today's potion, so I hope you're ready to do a good job." Electra smiled sweetly at her partner. Ginny smiled back, hands curving into claws under the cover of the table. She was going to kill Percy. And Daphne. And Electra. Snape hadn't appeared, so he hadn't yet given her fresh cause for murder, but she'd kill him on general principle. It wasn't as if anyone would miss him, after all...

The lesson was fiendish. Snape assigned each pair a different potion using salamander scales and porcupine quills as the key ingredients, and left it up to the students to determine in what order to add the ingredients and what amount of scales to use. "If you've read your assignments, you should understand the sliding scale of effects produced by varying proportions of salamander scales to porcupine quills. Therefore you will be able to determine the minimum quantity of scales necessary to finish your potion, given the quantity of quills listed in your recipes," he said, glaring at the class.

"Failure to produce a usable potion will be taken not only as a failing grade on this test, but also as confirmation that you have not completed your assigned homework. Points will be deducted accordingly. Begin."

Electra picked up the recipe for Scrubb's Patent All-Surface Mildew Removal Solution and eyed it disdainfully. "Ick. Eye of newt, rattlesnake venom, dragon's blood diluted in white wine vinegar... Weasley, you get the ingredients. I'll stir the cauldron."

"Yes, your highness," muttered Ginny, snatching the recipe from Electra's polished nails. She ran an eye down the ingredients, noting their amounts and ticking off adverse reactions in her head. Potions was a set of logic problems in many ways -- _this_ ingredient had to be added before _that_ one, but only after a third one, and _these_ two had to be added in combination if they were in unequal amounts, but separated by _those_ furry things if in equal amounts, to prevent explosions... it was fascinating, really.

Luckily, even Snape couldn't justify assigning potions recipes using ingredient combinations he hadn't already made them study, or this would have been impossible. As it was, Ginny was still guessing at the characteristics of their final product.

Given the amount of quills, and considering they were probably aiming for something only mildly caustic and corrosive -- just enough to attack mildew without damaging the surfaces underneath -- they would need at least two and one seventh ounces of salamander scales, but absolutely no more than two and five eighths, or they'd have something fizzy and alcoholic that would only turn mildew a shocking pink. Best results probably obtained by using two and three sixteenths ounces, which was good since she didn't have the equipment to measure in sevenths of an ounce anyhow. Scales to be added after the quills, but before the dragon's blood, which would be the final ingredient.

"Right," said Ginny, straightening from her calculations. "Get the dragon's blood from Snape. I'll start mixing the potion." Electra sniffed but moved off. After the spectacular disaster of their third lesson, they'd come to a tacit agreement that Ginny would handle the more distasteful ingredients, but Electra would get them from Snape -- Electra and slimy things, the class had learned, were a dangerous combination, while Ginny was as apt to throw something at Snape and storm out of the room as she was to fetch the required ingredients. This way caused less trouble for everyone.

Electra stirred the potion slowly, making disparaging comments about Ginny's chopping technique. Ginny bottled up her instinctive retorts and snapped instructions, such as, "Twenty times widdershins, then toss in the basil leaf. Keep the heat steady." Barely two minutes before the time limit, Ginny poured in the diluted dragon's blood, using it to trace a careful figure eight into the brown sludge in the cauldron, then told Electra to stir twelve times clockwise. As Electra counted off the strokes, Ginny watched for any signs of an adverse reaction, and sighed in relief when the potion thinned, burbled, and changed to a pale sky blue.

"It worked!" she said, smiling at nobody in particular.

"Cool!" said Electra. "I'll have to owl my mum and dad about this." The girls grinned at each other, before suddenly recalling that they were enemies. There was a long pause.

"Good stirring," said Ginny awkwardly.

"Of course," said Electra, with a sniff. "I suppose you aren't half bad at measuring and mixing," she added grudgingly.

"Of course," said Ginny.

Snape was unable to criticize their potion, though he did disparage the state of Ginny's work area -- for which he deducted two points from Gryffindor. Ginny bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Someday she was going to prove to the slimy git that Weasley or no Weasley, Gryffindor or no Gryffindor, she was the best Potions student in this class -- and she was going to shove his face in it!

Snape moved on to Daphne and Ruth and praised the Slytherins' Cheering Concoction, even though it was salmon colored instead of yellow-orange. Then he complimented Daphne on an excellent use of ingredients, despite the remains of unevenly chopped mistletoe scattered over her worktable. Ginny seethed; Daphne grinned at her.

Finally the lesson was over. The students exploded into the corridor, desperate to escape the reek of Snape's classroom. Granted, the corridor air had distinct overtones of mildew, rot, and things better left unnamed and unseen -- but it was still better than the aroma of poisonous fumes, explosions, and unpleasant concoctions that had seeped into the walls of the Potions dungeon over the years. Ginny heaved a sigh of relief.

"Hey," said Susan, tapping Ginny on the shoulder. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Ginny shrugged. "Sure. But hurry -- I want to get some lunch before History of Magic."

Susan nodded and led Ginny into a nearby storage room. "Listen, Ginny," she said, talking fast as if expecting to be interrupted, "the boys and I decided to talk to you about Apple and Daphne. See, we know Daphne ruined your potion in our first lesson, and you had to clean up after the flying lesson, but we can't figure out why you're so angry. She's a great person, really -- and there's no reason to be angry with Apple just because of her cousin. Besides, according to Apple and Daphne, you haven't been very nice either, which isn't like you.

"So what's going on?"

After a few seconds, Ginny realized she probably ought to be reacting. She shook her head slightly. "Come again?"

Susan looked exasperated. "What's going on between you and Daphne? The boys and I want to know, because we like her and we like you, and it's no good if you hate each other. Clear?"

"Yeah, clear," said Ginny, clenching her hands. A lingering tendril of steam rose from her ear. "Daphne lied to me. She ruined any chance I had of doing well in Potions -- which was practically none anyhow, just because I'm a Weasley. She was nasty to one of my friends before the Sorting. And she almost got people killed during flying!"

Ginny took a deep breath. "She's not a 'great person, really.' She's _evil_. She made Apple hate me, and now you and the boys will hate me too, and it's all wrong because you're supposed to be on my side -- you're Gryffindors! Why can't anyone _see_ that?"

Susan held up her hands, looking nervous. "Breathe, Ginny. Calm down. Think peaceful thoughts -- deep breaths now..."

"I will not calm down!" yelled Ginny. It felt good to yell; she'd bottled up her frustration far too long. "I hate Daphne, and Apple, and Snape, and Colin, and all of you, too! You're all a bunch of damned, stinking traitors. Go away and leave me alone."

Susan backed away, never taking her eyes off Ginny. "Fine, then -- if that's what you think, we'll leave you alone. See how you like it!"

Ginny watched with satisfaction as the other girl stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She'd made Susan go away, all by herself. She'd made Susan afraid. Was that what Tom meant by power?

The ridiculousness of the situation struck her suddenly -- one eleven year old girl chasing another out of a dungeon filled with dented, rusty cauldrons. A fit of giggles rushed up from her stomach, and she leaned against the wall, laughing. "'Go away and leave me alone,'" she gasped, "and she went. Power..."

The fit passed as quickly as it began, leaving Ginny drained and achy; her bones felt heavy and her hair seemed to be made of fine-spun lead wires, pressing her down. What had she just done? All that work to befriend Susan and the boys thrown away in five minutes, because of Apple and Daphne. It wasn't fair! It wasn't her fault she was angry -- it was Percy, and Electra, and Snape, and Daphne -- always Daphne.

Ginny checked her watch and jumped. Toad guts -- she was going to be late for History of Magic. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she ran toward the stairwell.

\---------------------------------------------

_The princess walked through the twisting corridors of the castle, her steps sure and quick, carrying her past the shattered doors and bloodied corpses. The dragon slumbered in the hidden chamber, spelled into the sleep of generations, awaiting the call of the heir. Awaiting her call._

_She hurried through the passages and down the shifting stairs, following the whispers of the dragon's dreams, drifting upward through the walls. The entrance to the chamber -- the secret gateway -- was nearby; she could feel it in her bones._

_The battered stones of the corridor were cold against her bare feet, and her thin nightdress billowed around her legs. Pale moonlight shone through the shattered windowpanes, illuminating her path..._

_The princess paused in confusion -- nightdress? Bare feet? Moonlight? She wore thick robes of finest wool, as befitted her station, and she walked in daylight -- she had no secrets to hide -- and she was looking for... for the... the..._

_What was she looking for? Where_ was _she?_ What was happening to her?

Ginny slid to the floor, back pressed against the wall, blinking in confusion. Right. First things first -- she plainly wasn't in her bed, where she ought to have been. It was night. She'd been dreaming about the bloody princess and her bloody dragon again. And now she was barefoot, in her nightdress, in the corridor by the first floor girls' bathroom -- the haunted one.

She was obviously losing her mind.

"Sleepwalking," she muttered. "I was sleepwalking. But I don't sleepwalk! I didn't think people really sleepwalked -- it doesn't make sense -- oh God, I'm going mad."

A faint noise caught her ear, and she peered down the dark corridor. Two reflective eyes stared balefully from the stairwell. Ginny squeaked -- Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, had spotted her.

Gathering herself, Ginny pushed herself upright and ran straight for the cat, hoping Filch was sneaking down the other end of the corridor. A hoarse shout behind her confirmed her guess, and Ginny felt a spark of hope. She swerved around Mrs. Norris -- the cat slashed at her ankle -- and tore up the steps, muttering under her breath, "Please move, please move, please move, please don't let me get caught, please--"

"Bastard stairs!" Filch's angry yell was far too close for her peace of mind, and Ginny rushed up another flight before daring to look down. The flight on which Filch stood was hovering indecisively in mid-shift, seemingly unsure of where to redirect itself. Filch, his line of pursuit cut off, beat furiously on the banister, cursing to no avail. Mrs. Norris twined around his feet and yowled.

"Thank you," whispered Ginny, patting a banister. It twitched under her hand, as if embarrassed. She was sure the stairs would be blushing, if only they could.

Taking advantage of her sudden reprieve, Ginny hurried back to the Gryffindor common room and knocked gently on the Fat Lady's portrait frame. "Please wake up," she whispered. "I need to get in before Filch comes up here."

"Eh?" mumbled the Fat Lady. "What on earth are you doing out so late, young lady?"

"Never mind that -- flibbertigibbet! Filch is coming -- let me in!"

Grumbling, the Fat Lady swung open and Ginny scrambled through the portrait hole, pulling the painting gently closed behind her. "Sorry!" she whispered, hoping the Fat Lady heard.

Ginny crept through the common room, weaving cautiously through the furniture. The fire was banked to embers, its ruddy light lending no additional illumination to the moonbeams, but its flickering making the shadows jump and twist, obscuring the familiar room. Twice Ginny barked her shins on chairs that sprang out of nowhere -- she was sure they hadn't been in those positions earlier that evening -- but she reached the stairs without disaster. The steps, being solid stone, were mercifully silent.

Ginny slipped into the dorm room with her breath held and fingers crossed. The door squealed softly as it closed behind her, and across the room Susan shifted and grumbled in her bed. Ginny froze. Susan shifted again, sighed, and fell silent. Soft, regular breathing whispered through the room; the four girls were asleep.

Collapsing on her bed, huddled into a tight ball under the covers, Ginny gave way to the hysteria she'd been fighting since waking in the corridor. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. She shook violently as the warm quilt leeched the chill from her body -- the icy fear in her bones remained. And her ankle was bleeding where Mrs. Norris had scratched her.

After several minutes, she uncurled enough to tie a handkerchief around her ankle. Then she snagged her quill and ink from the night table and pulled the diary out from under her pillow. She hesitated -- it was nearly midnight; would Tom be awake?

"Dear Tom," she wrote, "are you there? I need to talk to you."

Tom responded instantly. _"Hello Ginevra. What happened? Are you hurt?"_

Ginny hissed out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "I'm okay. Sort of. Tom, I've been having a strange dream since I came to Hogwarts, and tonight I woke up from it and I was sleepwalking down on the first floor. And then Filch and his cat chased me, except the stairs shifted and he didn't catch me, and it was so cold and dark and empty, and I don't know what's going on, and I think I'm going crazy, Tom!"

_"Ginevra, be calm. Breathe. You're safe now."_

Ginny took several deep breaths and relaxed her hands before she snapped her quill or upset the ink bottle. "Thanks. Sorry," she scribbled.

_"It was nothing."_ An intangible shrug seemed to radiate from the diary. _"What else would a friend do? Now, Ginevra, please tell me what happened tonight -- calmly."_

Ginny scrabbled for the ink bottle, dipping her quill slowly and trying to be calm. "Since I got to Hogwarts, I've been having a recurring dream every few nights," she wrote. "I dream that I'm a princess walking through a ruined castle. It's always empty; I'm the only one there. I'm looking for a dragon that sleeps in a secret room at the castle's heart. The dragon will save my kingdom from whatever threatens it -- sometimes it's a dark witch, sometimes it's people who are related to monsters, and once or twice it's been an army.

"Tonight, I was having the dream and I woke up on the first floor, near the girls' bathroom, the one that Moaning Myrtle haunts. Then Mrs. Norris spotted me and I had to run from Filch. One of the staircases moved or he would've caught me, and Mrs. Norris scratched my ankle -- it was still bleeding when I got back to Gryffindor Tower. I had to wake the Fat Lady to get in, and she was awfully put out.

"It was dark down there, and cold, and I didn't have my slippers on. I've never had a recurring dream before. And I don't sleepwalk -- only crazy people sleepwalk, right? Tom, I think I'm going mad."

_"Ginevra, you are NOT mad,"_ wrote Tom, his words almost raising reverse ridges on the paper. _"Trust me. It's perfectly normal to be shaken after sleepwalking, particularly if you've never done so before. And I believe being chased through a dark, old castle at midnight -- by Filch, no less -- would unsettle anyone._

_"As for your dream, you say it started at Hogwarts, correct?"_

"Yes," answered Ginny.

_"Well, that explains the castle. As for why the castle is deserted -- you've never been away from your home and family for any extended period of time before this year, correct?"_

"Yes," wrote Ginny, wondering what Tom was hinting at.

_"I suspect you're missing your family. And since, for unaccountable reasons, you haven't found close friends here, you don't have much to distract you from that sense of loss. Therefore the castle is deserted. As for the violence and destruction, that may well be caused by a sense of betrayal over Daphne's deception on the Hogwarts Express. That would also explain the dark witch who is sometimes the cause of the devastation._

_"The dragon is something that will 'save' the kingdom. In other words, you're searching for something that will help you replace your family, find friends, or possibly get revenge on Daphne._

_"The sleepwalking I can't explain offhand, but I'm sure it's nothing serious. You had a bad day, after all -- remember your argument with Susan. That's enough to throw anyone off for a night. I wouldn't worry much about it."_

Ginny nibbled on a fingernail, brushing the feathery tip of the quill back and forth across her cheek. It seemed almost too easy an explanation... but it did make sense. Tom obviously knew a lot more about dreams than she did.

"I guess you're right," she wrote. "Thanks, Tom. I think I can get back to sleep now."

_"Wonderful!"_

Ginny groaned under her breath. "You're not supposed to tease me after I've almost had hysterics. I could start crying again."

_"Hysterics?"_ scoffed Tom. _" Hysterics? Not my Ginevra -- she's a Weasley. Who are you, imposter?"_

"Oi! You leave my family out of this, Riddle," wrote Ginny, grinning. "And I could so cry if I wanted to. I could. I bet it would get awfully damp in there after a few minutes..."

Tom scribbled a tiny drawing of a face with its tongue stuck out. _"Perhaps, but the spell on the book collects all liquids and saves them for me, so I'd dry off soon enough. Besides, I don't have a physical form. I'm only a memory -- not quite real."_

"You're real! You're my best friend -- nobody's ever understood me like you, Tom. Don't put yourself down."

There was a short pause. _"Am I really your best friend, Ginevra?"_ Tom's hand was hesitant.

"Of course you are," wrote Ginny firmly. "I don't care that you're a memory in an enchanted diary -- you're more real than most of the people here. I wouldn't trade you for any of them."

_"Well,"_ wrote Tom, seemingly lost for words. _"Thank you. I wouldn't trade you either, Ginevra. A few people have written in the diary since the real me created it, but you're the only one to treat me as a person. Thank you."_

"You're welcome. Good night, Tom."

_"Good night, Ginevra."_

Ginny set the ink and quill on her night table, killed the Lumos spell, and stretched out under the covers, one hand resting lightly on the open diary. She smiled. Repeating dreams and sleepwalking weren't much -- Hogwarts was full of oddities, after all -- and she could face anything so long as she had Tom. The only thing better would be for him to have a physical shape, to be able to leave the diary. It would be nice to see him -- she was sure he was handsome, with dark hair and elegant hands.

As she drifted to sleep, she mumbled her wish aloud. The diary quivered and grew warm under her hand, straining towards something. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, a translucent mist seeped from the pages of the book and hovered over the sleeping girl.

_"You'll get your wish soon enough, Ginevra Weasley,"_ the mist whispered. _"Just keep writing and you'll get your wish."_ A cool, insubstantial hand -- elegant and long-fingered -- brushed over Ginny's hair. The mist smirked as she shivered. _"Sleep well, Ginevra. I'll see you soon enough."_

In her sleep, Ginny smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked the flying lesson ever-so-slightly after the publication of OotP, to reflect that Ginny apparently taught herself to fly rather than learning openly from her brothers. Which I still think is a stupid bit of canon, but whatever.
> 
> Also, in retrospect I think the final paragraphs of this chapter were not a good idea. For one thing, all the other 150+ thousand words are strictly in Ginny's POV and there's no desperate need for this passage to be the one exception. (In fact, there is no desperate need for this passage to exist at all.) For another thing, Tom should not be that strong this soon. I can kind of handwave the latter objection by saying he blew more power on that little manifestation than he'd expected, and therefore began conserving his strength, but the sloppiness annoys me -- not quite enough to prod me into rewriting the passage, but still. Annoying.
> 
> Oh well, we learn by doing and I flatter myself that I wouldn't make the same mistake these days. *wry*


	5. Making It Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Fifth: In which Tom reveals pieces of his past, Ginny sleepwalks again, an Herbology class presents unforeseen challenges, Sprout is unexpectedly kind, and Halloween arrives.

Saturday afternoon, Ginny sat in a corner of the common room, diary open in her lap, and watched the other Gryffindors. Tom had given her tips on her Transfiguration essay but she'd put most of it off for later, preferring not to think hard. She hated thinking on rainy days -- it was far too much effort.

Movement caught her eye from across the room and she perked up. "Harry's back from Quidditch practice," she told Tom. "Well, he came back a while ago but now he's cleaned up."

_"Harry again, eh?"_ wrote Tom. _"And does he clean up well?"_

"Tom!" Ginny flushed and bit her tongue to keep from scolding out loud.

_"Yes?"_

"Don't say things like that! It's embarrassing." She glanced around furtively, then wrote, "Yes he does. And it's none of your business so stop asking."

_"As you wish. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable, though I hope you realize there's no harm in looking -- provided it makes you happy."_

Ginny's face flamed again. "I know that! It's just that it's private. And my brothers tease me for watching him."

_"Tch. I can't imagine that they haven't, on occasion, liked and watched various girls. Teasing you for liking Harry is therefore hypocritical."_

"Yeah!" Ginny nodded. "I know Ron likes Hermione, but I don't think he realizes it. I could tell from his letters last year and the way he acts even when she yells at him. Fred and George have something going on with the Gryffindor Chasers -- I just don't know which two. Bill and Charlie don't tease me much, but they're grown up and they've actually had girlfriends, so that's different. And Percy's so stiff I don't think he knows how to tease anyone. Plus I don't think he notices. He's not good at noticing people."

_"They are hypocrites, aren't they. Have you told your mother about this?"_

"NO! She's my MUM! I couldn't tell her about Harry!" Ginny drew her feet up onto her armchair and hunched over the diary.

_"Ginevra, I meant to ask if you had told your mother about your brothers' behavior. I know I'm not the most sensitive person in the world -- nor am I female -- but I do understand that one doesn't speak to parents about private matters. Credit me with some sense."_

Ginny squirmed at Tom's dry tone and managed to flush still more. She was afraid her face might literally catch fire if she couldn't change the subject. "Sorry," she wrote.

_"It must be nice to have parents,"_ mused Tom, _"even if you can't talk to them about everything."_

"Don't you have parents? Well, didn't you, anyhow?"

_"In the strict biological sense, yes,"_ wrote Tom slowly. _"In the practical sense, no. My father was a Muggle; when he learned that my mother was a witch, he threw her out. I was born shortly thereafter, she died, and I was raised in an orphanage. I never knew my father, and to be honest, I don't want to."_

"Good. He sounds awful," wrote Ginny firmly. "Was the orphanage very lonely?"

_"One could say so,"_ wrote Tom with an air of finality.

Ginny sighed and shifted in her chair. Tom was avoiding the subject, which wasn't surprising. After all, Harry never talked much about the Dursleys and they were probably as bad as an orphanage -- maybe worse, since they were family, and family was supposed to care. But at least Harry's father hadn't thrown his mother out... Well, both boys were unlucky, but Harry seemed all right and Tom managed to act like a brother though he'd never had one, so she supposed she shouldn't worry about them too much.

Still... "You can share my family if you want," she offered.

There was a pause. _"Really?"_

"Yes."

_"Hmm. Considering your brothers, I wonder how wise that would be."_

Ginny stifled a giggle; it wouldn't do to be seen laughing over her diary. "You're not allowed to insult the family unless you're part of it, silly. So you're an honorary Weasley now."

_"Thank you, Ginevra."_

"You know," wrote Ginny thoughtfully, "nobody in my family ever calls me Ginevra -- unless Mum's really angry. It's always Ginny. 'Come here Ginny,' 'Ginny Weasley, don't you use language like that in this house!' 'Ginny go to bed,' and on and on. I used to hate my name -- it reminds me of when Mum washed my mouth with soap even though I was only four and the twins told me to say the words to Mum as a good morning present." Ginny pulled a face, remembering the flavor. "But she made them de-gnome the garden six times and wouldn't let them fly for a month, so that was all right."

_"Would you like me to call you Ginny?"_ asked Tom.

"Actually, no," wrote Ginny slowly. "You don't say Ginevra because you're angry, so it's special between you and me. I like it. Besides, Ginny's a little girl's name."

_"As you wish, Ginevra."_

"Thanks, Tom. Hey, at the orphanage, did they ever get angry if you swore?" asked Ginny, still remembering the soap incident.

_"When they noticed us. Why?"_

"Just curious. Mum hates swearing, but she never washed my brothers' mouths with soap. I think she only washed mine because I'm a girl, which is unfair. I had to make up words, like toad-guts, but Ron and the twins say things and all she does is scold them."

_"Families can be unfair, Ginevra, but I'm sure your mother only wants to protect you. May I ask why you curse toads?"_

"Because they're slimy and warty and when I was three years old, Fred -- I think it was Fred -- shoved one down my shirt at breakfast and it wriggled all over me!"

_"I see."_ Ginny could almost hear Tom laughing.

"Shut it, you evil toad-licker!" she wrote, sticking her tongue out at the page. "At least I'm not as bad as Ron -- I hate toads but he's terrified of spiders. It's funny to watch him when he sees one, so of course the twins drop spiders on him. They don't shove toads in my face though; the last time they tried that I hit George in the nose and he whinged for days." Ginny smirked. "It's their own fault for the first toad at breakfast."

_"And I'm sure they regret that now,"_ wrote Tom. _"But enough of toads -- is anything interesting happening at the moment?"_

Ginny looked around. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione are talking about something over to one side -- maybe Harry's Quidditch practice. Percy's actually mingling with the common folk for once. He's writing something at a corner table and Oliver Wood just sat down next to him -- I think he's asking about an essay.

"Erm. There are a bunch of sixth and seventh years doing homework. Apple just dragged Colin in through the portrait hole. They look frazzled -- her plait is falling to pieces -- so she was probably trying to turn him into a normal human being and didn't succeed. As usual." Ginny snorted.

"The twins are poking a salamander near the fire -- I can't see clearly -- there are too many people. I think they might be feeding it. Hold on a minute." Ginny leaned over the chair arm, twisting around for a better view.

Fred maneuvered an object in the salamander's mouth, tickling its throat with a smoldering quill. "Come on, you daft blighter, swallow -- that's it -- swallow now," he murmured. The salamander gulped suddenly and the object vanished. "Yes! Gather round now, watch closely---"

"---we haven't any idea what happens next---" said George.

"---but ten Sickles says it's interesting," finished Fred. The huddled students (and Ginny in her corner) eyed the salamander warily. It twitched twice, hissed a plume of ashy smoke, and belched explosively, hurling itself backwards into the air and across the room.

"Look out! There it goes!" cried George as the creature ricocheted around the room in a cloud of sparks and explosions. The twins dashed after it, jumping and grabbing wildly. Ginny ducked back around her chair and sighed -- she'd watched this scene at home, with innumerable minor variations, far too often to worry about the outcome. The salamander would escape, Percy would yell, the twins would grin, and all non-Weasleys would be distracted enough to ignore her slipping off.

"Idiots," she muttered, snatching the diary and her unfinished essay. "You'd think Percy would've given up by now." Tucking her supplies under her arm, she headed to the girls' dormitory. Confused shouts, cheers, and explosions drifted up the staircase behind her.

Once her essay was placed on her stack of unfinished homework, Ginny perched on her bed and reopened the diary. "Sorry Tom!" she wrote. "The twins fed something to the salamander -- probably a firecracker -- and it banged around the room shooting sparks. Percy went on the warpath so I slipped out."

_"Sensible of you,"_ wrote Tom. _"Don't worry about the interruption. Does that sort of thing happen often at your home?"_

"Unfortunately yes."

_"At least your family is interesting."_ She could feel the amusement in his words, and wished she could see the grin that probably accompanied them.

"They're your family too, Mr. Tom Honorary-Weasley Riddle." Ginny paused, struck by a sudden thought. "Say, is Tom your real name or is it a nickname like Ginny?"

_"Tom is my given name -- Tom Marvolo Riddle -- after my father and grandfather."_ He hesitated; Ginny held her breath, hoping he'd confide in her. Finally he continued.

_"I assume my mother intended to honor her family and still thought she loved my father."_ Tom paused again. _"From what little she left me, I believe she came from an old wizarding family that had fallen on hard times, which explains why she was living among Muggles and why she didn't return to the wizarding world when my father assaulted her."_

"He assaulted her?" Ginny fell back against the headboard, horrified. "Just for being a witch? That's horrible!"

_"Though we are all human, the gap between Muggle and wizard seems unbridgeable at times -- the Muggles' fear and distrust is too great. And if wizards don't wish to fight back... well, my mother is not the only witch to suffer at the hands of a supposed friend or lover."_ A blot spread from the last period, as if Tom had pressed too hard on a quill.

"Oh. But isn't it our job to protect Muggles?" asked Ginny. "So they don't find out about magic. Then nothing can happen, right?"

_"True, so far as it goes. But the best Obliviators occasionally fail, and the families of Muggle-born witches and wizards don't always react well -- and we can't Obliviate them. So the problem continues. But enough of this. Regardless of rain, Harry, exploding salamanders, and politics, you, Miss Ginevra Weasley, still have an unfinished Transfiguration essay. Shall we?"_

"You, Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle," wrote Ginny carefully and precisely, "are a stinking, no-good, despicable toad-licker."

_"So they tell me. Transfiguration?"_

"Git," muttered Ginny aloud. She scribbled a quick, "Yes, whatever," and snatched the essay back off her night table. She might as well work on it now; she had nothing better to do.

\---------------------------------------------

_The princess paused in her search for the dragon, head tilted to catch a faint, echoing cry. Was it -- could it be -- one of the sorceress's guardian beasts? She had hoped them destroyed with the castle, banshee screeches forever silenced, but apparently she had hoped in vain._

_She could withstand the torturous cry but the dragon had no painful immunity. The cry was death to untrained ears. The beast must die._

_The princess crept through darkened corridors, spiraling out from the castle's heart, tracking the cries of the beast. At the gatehouse doors -- great doors, hanging drunkenly from broken hinges -- she hesitated. The castle sheltered royal blood, but outside the sorceress reigned. She must be cautious, crafty, sheathed in shadows._

_She walked swiftly through the damp night, toward the soft yet piercing cries. Darkness shrouded her and shielded her -- she wrapped it round her like a cloak. Finally she neared the lair. A thick stone wall encircled it, topped by spikes and guarded by a giant. The princess tiptoed past the sleeping guard and slipped the latch on the gate._

_The beast lay still in its nest, crying softly in its sleep; the sound battered her. But the princess steeled herself, tearing her dress and stuffing cloth into her ears. Deafened, she raised a stone, raised it high, and smashed the beast with all her strength. It thrashed in pain, screeching, and she beat it into silence._

_Plucking the cloth from her ears, the princess listened for the giant, hoping against hope he slept unaware. Fate was with her. As she left, an empty bottle glinted -- the source of her luck. The princess snorted in disgust._

_Her return was swift and silent, but her breath came quick and shallow until the doors swung shut behind and the castle walls surrounded her with familiar weight and shelter._

_Task accomplished, the princess returned to the castle's heart and resumed her search. She was looking for the dragon._

Ginny rolled over, pressing her right cheek firmly into her pillow, scrabbling at the tatters of her fading dream. "Nnngh, don't want to wake up..." she mumbled into the pillow. The words wormed into her mind, jostling the nighttime furniture and drawing back curtains to let the moonlight in.

"Toad guts," hissed Ginny, now fully awake, knowing she wouldn't sleep any time soon despite the tiredness weighting her body. She pried her face from the pillow and looked blearily around. The other girls slept, curtains drawn around their beds. Moonlight streamed in the windows, pouring through a break in the oppressive clouds. Susan's wind-up alarm with glowing hands read half past three.

"It's too early to be awake," Ginny told herself. "I'm going to lie down and fall asleep, like I was before." She settled back under the covers and rolled onto her back, staring at the cloth overhead, counting Quaffles. She shifted irritably; something was scratching the back of her neck.

Ginny reached behind her head, fishing for anything that didn't belong. Something stabbed her fingers and she sat up, shaking her head and yanking both hands through her tangled hair until a wispy object came loose in her grasp. She brought her hand around to examine her capture.

Trapped between her fingers was a small brown feather, short and fluffy, with just enough stiffness to prick her. "What on earth?" Ginny fished through her hair again and patted her pillow, dislodging three more feathers. Disconcerted, she turned down the covers and discovered several more feathers stuck through her nightdress, which itself was discolored and torn at the bottom. Her feet were filthy.

"Oh no," breathed Ginny, "it happened again." She scrabbled under her pillow for the diary. She had to talk with Tom.

"Dear Tom, please wake up," she wrote. "I think I just sleepwalked again. I had another dream about the princess but this time she went somewhere else and was worried about something -- an animal, I think. And I woke up with feathers in my hair, my nightdress is torn, and my feet are almost black. You said it was a one-time thing!"

_"Ginevra, be calm,"_ responded Tom, his writing dark and sharp. _"Don't panic. You had a variation on your recurring dream, which included an animal. While dreaming, you walked in your sleep, and you woke with feathers in your hair and dirt on your feet. This seems fairly straightforward._

_"You're still agitated over your situation at Hogwarts and are expressing that agitation by wandering; this occurs in your sleep because while awake, you control your subconscious mind. You interpret your restlessness as a search for a dragon. Tonight you wandered into the Owlery, which explains the feathers, dirty feet, and presence of an animal in your dream."_

Ginny found herself nodding; that did make sense. The Owlery floor was notoriously filthy, despite Filch's attempts to keep it clean.

_"This is still nothing to worry about,"_ continued Tom. _"Sleepwalking is harmless in itself, as are Hogwarts owls. Should you wander outside the castle or have an accident, we can take the matter to the Headmaster, but until such an unlikely event occurs I suggest you relax and concentrate on your classes. The more comfortable you are at Hogwarts, Ginevra, the less you should sleepwalk."_

Ginny cocked her head, considering. "You're probably right, Tom," she wrote. "This is twice now and I haven't fallen down the stairs yet, so I guess I should be all right. But what if I get caught after curfew? That almost happened last time!"

_"Serve your detention and explain the problem to the Headmaster. As I recall, he's a forgiving sort and will likely excuse any future midnight wanderings,"_ replied Tom.

"Dumbledore is awfully peculiar," wrote Ginny. "I wouldn't put it past him to say something about sleepwalking being a wonderful form of exercise and just offer me sweets. Ron said he did things like that to Harry last year."

_"The Headmaster's a peculiar man, no doubt,"_ began Tom, only to pause -- and in the pause, Ginny could almost see his grin. _"But he is forgiving and sympathetic. Perhaps you should sleep on the question and decide on a course of action in the morning."_

"Right. Good night, Tom. Thank you for listening."

Ginny closed the diary and slipped it back under her pillow, but she was too awake to fall asleep directly. Instead, she tiptoed to the bathroom and washed her feet, changed her nightdress, brushed her sheets, and watched the moon for a while. After half an hour she lay down to rest a bit and realized she was more tired than she'd thought; she dropped off less than a minute after her head touched the pillow and her hand brushed against the diary.

She tossed in her sleep, but her hand never moved from under the pillow.

\---------------------------------------------

The week rolled by smoothly -- sneaking up on Halloween -- to Ginny’s mingled irritation and delight. She desperately wanted to attend the Halloween feast, but she wanted nothing to do with her fellow first years, particularly not pretending to celebrate with them all evening. Also she was sure Harry, Ron, and Hermione were planning something secret -- with those three, any secret was bound to be interesting and might be an adventure. Thus far Ginny's Hogwarts experience was sorely lacking in adventure.

Friday morning Ginny almost leaped out of bed, thinking of Halloween. Then she remembered her morning schedule -- Defense Against the Dark Arts. With Lockhart. Ugh.

The man was in his element, spinning ghost stories all through class. Most of them, naturally, ended with his spectacular unmasking or defeat of the spirit in question. Susan, Gwen and Jia-li ooohed in all the right places; Colin joined in despite Apple's glares and jabbing fingers. The boys snickered quietly amongst themselves and Ginny spent the lesson scribbling to Tom, who took great pleasure in twisting the stories so they ended with Lockhart's death. The means of his demise grew more fanciful as the minutes wore on.

Ginny particularly enjoyed Tom's fifth story, in which a ghost -- who was only haunting people in protest against her parents' murder -- pretended to be awed by Lockhart's reputation and led him off a cliff on the pretext of moving back a few steps to look better in a photograph. Then Lockhart's own ghost rose up and blithely proceeded onward, unaware that he was no longer corporeal even though the local villagers screamed and fled. Ginny felt that would probably happen for real sooner or later. She was surprised no ghost or werewolf had thought of this yet -- it seemed a foolproof way to kill the idiot.

Finally the lesson finished and the Gryffindors ambled down to the Great Hall for lunch. They clustered together at the table -- Ginny on the outskirts -- and settled in to discuss the Halloween Banquet. "So, we aren't supposed to wear costumes like little children," began Susan. "That's a relief! But I take it a few bats or something with pumpkins wouldn't be out of place?"

"Mmm-hmmm," said Jia-li through a mouthful of sausage. "But make sure it's nice -- it is a banquet after all."

"And it has to fit under your robes," said Eugene. "You're not excused from wearing them even if it is after school hours -- they're very keen on robes at formal occasions."

"But my mum packed a suit," said Colin, "and she said I'm to wear it for anything formal. And robes are so odd..."

The other boys shot him dirty looks. "Look, school robes are bad enough," said Danny Park, "but you don't have to call attention to them. And they aren't odd. My dad wears robes all the time. Muggle suits are what's odd -- they have too many pieces -- they never fit right -- and they make men wear leashes around their necks. Robes are much more comfortable and if you don't think so, you're nuts."

Colin appeared ready to pitch a fit in protest but Apple leaned over and whispered in his ear. He subsided unhappily and said, "I'm not nuts. It's not my fault my parents aren't wizards."

"Oh," said Danny. "Sorry -- you fit in well enough that I forgot. You just wait 'til you get some formal robes; you'll see what I mean."

"Okay," said Colin, and speared another sausage from the serving platter. Apple smiled approvingly.

Interesting, thought Ginny. She'd have sworn Apple couldn't do anything with Colin but here she'd headed off an argument and made Danny apologize with almost no work. Power from the side, just like Tom said. Sneaky power, almost Slytherin. Ginny frowned. She definitely needed to keep an eye on Apple.

Lunch was far from over when Ginny excused herself and headed to the library. She had a good forty-five minutes before she needed to be at greenhouse one -- so she might as well squeeze in some review. Sprout had hinted at a practical lesson on the effects of magical growth formulas, and Ginny wanted to be sure she knew all the common growth potions and powders.

When she arrived at the greenhouse, which Sprout had thoughtfully left unlocked so students wouldn't have to stand outside in the rain, all the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were already there. Ginny checked her battered wind-up wristwatch to make sure she wasn't late -- she didn't want to disappoint Professor Sprout or give the others any weapons to use against her.

Sprout bustled in and beamed at the class. "Good afternoon!" she said. "Today we're going to divide into pairs and test growth formulas on several Muggle and magical herbs. Each pair will use a different formula and we'll pool the class results at the end of the lesson. I expect a four foot report on the results and their probable causes for next Friday's lesson -- with charts and tables." The class groaned.

"Oh, cheer up, it's not so terrible," said Sprout, dampened by the lack of enthusiasm. "You have almost two weeks. Pair off and I'll pass 'round the growth formulas."

Ginny grabbed Xanthe from a huddle of Hufflepuffs and led her to the far corner of the work area, which they had unofficially claimed. Sprout hurried through the milling students, passing out packets of powders and stoppered vials of potions, each with a parchment scrap covered in carefully written instructions, and finally popped up in Ginny and Xanthe's corner. "Miss Weasley, Miss Delaflor, you'll be working with Flaxbind's Fabulous Fertilizer." She handed Ginny a small jar filled with something viscous and brilliantly purple; the fertilizer oozed around the container as Ginny tilted it.

"Read the instructions carefully and be sure not to spill it on yourselves -- it can be a touch corrosive in high concentration," said Sprout. "I trust you girls not to be silly. The mint, lavender, chamomile, squint, fingerweed, and Flannery's shamrock are on the instruction table by the measuring tapes." She bustled off, peering over shoulders and answering questions.

Xanthe favored Ginny with a wry grin. "You'd better be up to this, you know," she said, "because any trust the Professor has in us is your fault. I'll get the plants. You deal with that purple goo -- I'm keeping my hands away from it."

"That's probably a good idea, considering," said Ginny with a smirk.

"Hey! No fair making perfectly justified comments about my clumsiness."

"You're the one who planted half her sleeve in the chamomile without noticing," said Ginny.

Xanthe waved this off. "That was _ages_ ago. Come on, read the instructions -- I want to finish before Caroline and Anne so I can watch them botch everything -- if you think I'm bad. you've never seen them with plants!"

"If you say so," said Ginny. "You'd better fetch the herbs."

Xanthe nodded and walked off towards Sprout's instruction table. Ginny returned her attention to the jar of eye-searing purple goo. She gently unscrewed the lid and winced at the stench -- it was becoming obvious why she'd never heard of Flaxbind's Fabulous Fertilizer despite her years in Mum's garden. The stuff was corrosive -- it reeked of burnt onions, rancid raw chicken, and rotting compost -- and it hurt to look at straight on.

Sprout's instructions did nothing to ease her distaste.

_"Measure one teaspoon of fertilizer into three gallons of water. Mix thoroughly. Each plant should receive one ounce of diluted solution for every stem of at least five inches' length or every seven leaves, whichever is applicable. If neither condition is applicable, use one and a half ounces for every square inch of ground cover. While applying the solution, be sure not to pour it directly onto any portion of the plant above the soil._

_"Repeat the incantation_ 'Fertilitatem Excito' _three times over each plant after applying the solution. Step away immediately after activating the solution, as Flaxbind's Fertilizer has been known to have unexpected side effects that may spread over the immediate area. All changes should be complete within ten minutes of activation."_

"This is mad," said Ginny, staring at the purple goo. "What sort of growth potion _is_ this?"

"It's that bad?" asked Xanthe, setting down six potted herbs and a measuring tape.

"It's worse," said Ginny. "We need a three gallon bucket, an ounce measure, and a teaspoon. And I want gloves -- I'm not putting my bare hands anywhere near that goo."

"I see what you mean," said Xanthe, peering at the instructions. "This is _mad_."

"That's what I said." Ginny shook her head and rose from her crouch. "I'll get the spoon and the gloves. Can you find the measure and a bucket?"

"Sure."

The purple goo was duly measured, diluted, and applied to the six plants, whose pre-application dimensions and characteristics were recorded on Ginny's meticulous chart. Ginny had a scare when Xanthe almost upset the bucket while pouring the third ounce of fertilizer onto the pot of shamrock, but only a few drops spilled onto the paving stones. Xanthe mopped these up with a handkerchief; the fabric sizzled on contact with the liquid, and a burnt umber color spread along its threads from the wet portion.

"Ugh," said Xanthe, shaking out the cloth and glaring at the stains. "Where did Professor Sprout find this mess anyway? It ought to be banned."

Ginny shrugged. "I have no idea. Let's back away -- I'm going to start it off."

Xanthe squeaked and scuttled away, dropping the handkerchief. "Better you than me," she said.

"Coward," said Ginny, and whispered the activation charm, tapping each pot with her wand. She scrambled backwards and watched the herbs warily.

"Shouldn't something have happened by now?" asked Xanthe after a few seconds.

"I don't know. Wait... I think they're twitching."

The two girls stared, fascinated, as the herbs swayed under an invisible wind. The chamomile burst into flower, showering the area with tiny yellow petals, while the fingerweed twisted into knots, knuckle joints creaking as the fleshy stems intertwined. "This isn't good -- this really isn't good," said Xanthe under her breath, grabbing Ginny's arm. "We're going to fail and my mother will be so _disappointed_..."

"Wait," said Ginny again, shifting uncomfortably in Xanthe's grip. "Sprout did say it had unpredictable side effects."

The Flannery's shamrock flushed purple and crept over the sides of its pot, sending scaly tendrils snaking over the paving stones.

"Okay, that's not good," admitted Ginny. Since when did shamrock have tendrils? It was overgrown clover for goodness' sake!

After several minutes the effects subsided. Ginny waited another three minutes as a precaution, then approached the herbs, wand out. Xanthe watched from a safe distance. "Are you sure they're done?" she asked.

"It's been fifteen minutes; they ought to be," said Ginny. She poked the scaly, purple shamrock experimentally with the tip of her wand. It remained still. "I think they're safe. Come help measure them."

They wrote the new plant dimensions on their chart, along with detailed notes on the side effects, like the multi-strand helix into which the fingerweed had woven itself. The mutated shamrock received an entire paragraph in Xanthe's angular scrawl, underlined and liberally sprinkled with exclamation marks. "It just isn't _right_ , you know," said Xanthe when Ginny suggested a calmer approach. "This is more important than my marks -- it's an outrage. Plants do not turn purple and go snaky because of growth potions. This stuff is _dangerous_."

Ginny declined to argue with this last statement.

They left the chart on the empty instruction table -- despite the oddities of their fertilizer they were the first pair finished -- and went to watch Caroline and Anne poison their plants. The Hufflepuff girls seemed to be arguing, however, and paying no attention to their surroundings. Ginny slowed as she approached, not sure of her welcome amongst Xanthe's friends or of her place in a fight.

"Bloody stupid rubbish!" snapped one of the two girls, glaring at a pot of fingerweed. "It won't grow."

"You're sure you said the incantation correctly?" asked the second, whom Ginny recognized as Caroline.

"Yes!" said the other girl, throwing up her hands. Her cheeks were flushed with frustration and she seemed almost ready to curse the fingerweed; her wand was ready in her left hand and she was muttering under her breath. This must be Anne, concluded Ginny. She resolved never to get on the girl's bad side; she'd seen that look in Mum's eyes and didn't want it aimed at herself.

"Hi!" said Xanthe, waving her hand in Anne's face. "Not finished yet? What's wrong?"

"Do we look like we're finished?" said Anne, switching her glare to Xanthe. Caroline snickered. "The blasted fingerweed won't bloody well grow! Caroline mixed the powder wrong."

"I did not!" said Caroline. "I followed the instructions -- it isn't my fault!"

Anne looked ready to growl at her partner, and Ginny broke in hastily. "What fertilizer were you using?" she asked.

"Wachsenpuder," snapped Anne. "Who are you?"

"This is Ginny," said Xanthe. "You know, she's in Gryffindor, stood with me at the Sorting, studies with me on Saturdays -- remember? You should let her help; she's really good at Herbology."

Anne and Caroline studied Ginny. Ginny stared back, curious about Xanthe's friends. Caroline was more immediately noticeable, courtesy of her dark skin and multitude of short, twisty plaits. She bubbled with suppressed energy. Anne had hair-colored hair, blue-gray eyes framed by wire-rim glasses, and a round, instantly familiar face -- but her eyes snapped with determination and she was a bit too tall and solid to fade into the background. They were not quite what Ginny had expected from Hufflepuffs.

"All right," said Anne abruptly. "Xanthe says you're smart. So what's wrong with this blasted fingerweed?" She picked up the pot and shook it at Ginny.

"Er, you shouldn't really shake it like that," began Ginny, holding out her hands in a placating manner. "You're using Wachsenpuder?"

"Yes," said Caroline.

"Then there's no problem. Wachsenpuder is made with Re'em blood, but because fingerweed's a combination of plant and animal the Re'em blood has no effect on it."

The three Hufflepuffs stared blankly at Ginny.

"You _know_ that?" said Caroline.

"Yes," said Ginny, confused. "It's in the supplemental reading -- Tansy Alembic's _Herbology and Potions: Intertwined Disciplines_. Besides, it only stands to reason. Re'em blood makes you stronger if you drink it, so that's its effect on animals; for plants, it absorbs their strength. Wachsenpuder uses that absorbed energy to force growth. But since fingerweed is a plant with animal characteristics, the effects cancel each other -- the Re'em blood makes the plant stronger, absorbs the strength, and sends it right back into the fingerweed. It's a locked circle, only the energy bleeds away so nothing ever happens -- which is lucky because if it built up the plant might explode," she finished happily.

There was an abrupt silence. Ginny fidgeted under Caroline's blank astonishment and Anne's measuring stare. Xanthe grinned unrepentantly.

"Xanthe," said Caroline solemnly, pulling herself together, "I see why you study with her. She's scary."

"Not really -- you haven't seen what a mess she makes of Astronomy," said Xanthe, still grinning. "Didn't I tell you she could help?"

" _Xanthe_ ," said Ginny, embarrassed.

"Thank you," said Anne, setting down the fingerweed and standing. She stuck out her hand; Ginny blinked and grasped it tentatively. "Anne Wilkinson, Hufflepuff, of Stoketon-on-Marsh. Pleased to meet you." She shook Ginny's hand firmly.

"Ginny Weasley, Gryffindor, of Ottery St. Catchpole. Er, likewise." Ginny rescued her hand and turned to Caroline. "Do I shake your hand too?"

Caroline laughed. "Only if you want to! I'm Caroline Addo and I'm from Ghana, but I've lived in Manchester since I was seven. And whatever Xanthe's told you, my grandfather _was_ a king. She's just too stupid to believe me."

Xanthe stuck her tongue out at Caroline, who grinned smugly in reply.

"Oh, not again," groaned Anne, waving a hand between her friends' faces. "Ginny, stop them while I hand in the results." She grabbed a sheet of untidy notes and strode toward Sprout's instruction desk.

Xanthe pulled her tongue in and the three remaining girls exchanged glances. "Now what?" asked Xanthe.

"Ginny stops us from arguing," said Caroline, turning to Ginny, "by telling us everything about herself!"

Ginny shot Xanthe a worried look. "Er, I'm very boring really. I have six older brothers, I like Potions and Herbology, I hate Snape and Filch, and I can't think of anything else." She shrugged helplessly. "I'm sure you're a lot more interesting."

"Hah!" said Xanthe, earning a frown from Caroline.

"I'm very interesting!" she protested. "I'm royalty -- that's always interesting."

"Royalty is a load of rubbish," said Anne, rejoining them. "And we don't believe you about your grandfather anyway."

"Hey!" protested Caroline. "You have a queen, don't you?"

"The English monarchy hasn't done anything but get written up for scandals since before--" began Anne, only to break off as Xanthe stepped on her foot.

"Stop it," said Xanthe. "If I can't argue with Caroline, _you_ can't either, you know. Besides, we're leaving Ginny out -- let's talk about something else."

"I didn't mind," said Ginny.

"It's still rubbish," grumbled Anne.

"Oh, dry up," said Xanthe. "Let's talk about Quidditch -- what about the house teams this year?"

The Hufflepuffs discussed Quidditch for several minutes, running over the strengths and weaknesses of each team. Caroline and Anne, Ginny learned, were both Quidditch-mad. Caroline was furious about Hufflepuff's slim chances at the House Cup and was determined to try out for the team next year. She was also still angry about Ghana's loss to Ireland in the preliminary matches for the World Cup. Anne naturally favored England while Xanthe, courtesy of her paternal grandfather, harbored a partiality for Spain.

Ginny, a halfhearted fan at best -- unless Harry played; she very much wanted to see him play -- found the arguments fascinating. She'd never realized girls could be as obsessive about Quidditch teams as her brothers. Ginny knew Gryffindor was good, England was mediocre, and the Chudley Cannons, regardless of what Ron said, were a joke -- but beyond that she didn't much care. The point of watching Quidditch instead of playing yourself had always escaped her. The Hufflepuffs did care, though, and they entertained each other, encouraged by Ginny's occasional questions, until Sprout called the class to order.

"I've compiled your results into these charts," she said, pointing to a large slate board behind her desk, "and this list of special notations. Copy them and use the information for your essay."

Ginny pulled out a new sheet of parchment and copied for all she was worth. Beside her Xanthe scratched away, muttering about Spain's World Cup chances and fielding indignant retorts from Caroline. Anne was glued to her charts, scribbling nearly as fast as Ginny.

A long period of writing and hand cramps later, Sprout dismissed the class early, saying no child should be expected to learn too much on a Friday afternoon the day before Halloween. Ginny packed her bag, waved at Xanthe as she left for Transfiguration, and waited for the other Gryffindors to get well ahead of her. As she waited, she studied the dittany patch, stroking the small leaves.

"After November I can give you one if you'd like," said Sprout, popping up behind Ginny. "They make good houseplants -- medium light, not too much water -- and the flowers are lovely."

"Oh," said Ginny, startled. "Er, thanks -- I'll remember that." The girls' room was a bit dreary without any plants, now that she came to think of it.

"Do consider it," said Sprout, smiling. "I'm always happy to find good homes for my plants." She paused, moving forward to stand beside Ginny. "On a different note, Miss Weasley, I'm glad you stayed after -- I wanted to talk to you."

Sprout sighed and gazed pensively at the dittany. "As you know, Herbology is one of the key disciplines of wizardry, but it's an overlooked field. We use few dramatic spells, earn no glory, and offer no glamour. So I take it upon myself to encourage those few students who show an interest in the field.

She turned to Ginny. "Miss Weasley, would you be interested in some extra-curricular Herbology work? The greenhouses and grounds are a bit much for only myself and Hagrid to handle, and I'd welcome another student's aid. There are some others who help me a few afternoons and evenings each month, and I think you might enjoy the work," -- Sprout paused briefly -- "and the companionship.

"What do you say, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny blinked, realizing she had pinched off several leaves and was crushing them between her fingertips; she dropped them back into the herb patch. What was she supposed to say to that? Yes? Of course she wanted to spend more time in the greenhouses... but she wasn't lonely really, and she did want to have time to spend with Tom...

Bother it all. "I think I'd like that, Professor Sprout," said Ginny. "When do I start?"

\---------------------------------------------

The common room was noisy, stuffy, and crowded -- most classes were finished and the grounds were currently inhospitable. Ginny slipped upstairs, walking to her bed in relief. Apple looked up from a Transfiguration textbook and shot her an inscrutable look, which Ginny did her best to ignore.

"Are you planning to stay long?" asked Ginny.

"Twenty minutes, no more. Please be quiet until I leave." Apple tugged her bed-curtains partially closed and returned to her book.

Ginny fished the diary out of her bag and shut her own curtains completely, not wanting to risk discovery; Tom was _her_ friend, _her_ secret, and nobody was going to take him away from her. She hummed as she pressed the pages flat.

"Dear Tom, you'll never guess what happened! Herbology was strange -- Sprout gave me and Xanthe an utterly bizarre fertilizing potion -- but after class she asked if I wanted to do extracurricular work for her and Hagrid, taking care of the greenhouses and grounds. She said she asks people who are interested and have a gift for Herbology, and she thinks I have a gift! I start Monday evening. Isn't that great?"

_"That's excellent news, Ginevra. Finally your genius is appreciated!"_

Ginny stuck her tongue out at the diary. "You shut it," she wrote. "I like Herbology and Professor Sprout, and this is the best thing that's happened to me this year besides meeting you. The least you can do is be happy for me -- not like stupid Percy. I ran into him just now and he only sniffed and said, 'That's all very well and good, Ginny, but you should think about your future. Herbology's a dead-end field.' Stinking toad-licker."

_"So he is. And mistaken as well,"_ wrote Tom. _"Herbology may not seem exciting, but its applications are endless -- medical research, Potions, cross-breeding, etc. I regret my lack of talent in the field. You could go far with your gift, particularly when combined with your skill in Potions."_

"Really?" asked Ginny. "I never thought I'd be much good as a witch. Somebody in my family's already done everything -- all I have is that I'm the girl, and I'm the baby. But all that means is that they think I'm silly and won't let me do anything interesting."

She sighed. "Ron always says he has it bad, having to live up to five brothers, but I don't see what he's talking about. Everyone likes him, he's clever when he pays attention, and he's awfully brave. I don't see why he wants to live up to Percy or the twins anyhow -- Percy's a prat and the twins are gits.

"I'm the one who has it bad. It took Mum twelve years to have a daughter, so now she pays too much attention to me and wants me to be a 'young lady.' I hate that -- it means I have to look after my brothers because they're boys and boys are expected to misbehave, but then I have to listen to them because they're boys and boys are supposed to protect girls. I'm in Gryffindor; can't I protect myself?"

Ginny shook cramps from her hand while Tom digested her tirade. Please let him not think she was a silly ungrateful girl -- she couldn't last if she lost her only friend.

_"Ginevra, if anyone tells you that you can't handle troubles on your own, ignore him,"_ wrote Tom, a serious tone pervading his handwriting. _"You're more than capable of dealing with anything that comes your way; rescues are not required. Still, your mother isn't totally out of line when she tells you to listen to your brothers. They are, after all, older and more experienced than you, though I'm sure you have more good sense than all six of them together!"_ An intangible sense of comfort punctuated the words.

"Thanks Tom. You always make me feel better. I wish more people understood me like you do -- you're a much better brother than my other ones."

_"Your happiness is my only desire, my lady."_

"Oi! Bite your tongue," wrote Ginny. She could almost feel smugness seeping from the diary pages, and she shook her head. "I'd love to talk longer but I really ought to start on my Herbology paper. I have two weeks, but it's four feet and after today I want it perfect."

_"Understandable, but remember that perfection is, so far as we know, unobtainable. Don't overstress yourself, Ginevra."_

"Don't worry, I'll be fine."

_"Incidentally, shouldn't you be thinking about what to wear to the Halloween banquet tomorrow?"_

Ginny grimaced. "I'm not going. I don't want to spend all night with a bunch of stuck-up toad-lickers, and besides, I think Harry, Ron, and Hermione are planning something secret and I want to know what. I thought I might follow them."

_"I see why you want to avoid the banquet, but I would advise against following your brother and his friends. Regardless of his performance as a family member, you should respect his privacy. It's fair play; if he ignores you, you ignore him. Besides, with the tower to yourself you can finish your work early."_

"I guess you're right," wrote Ginny reluctantly. "I'd be angry if I caught him spying on me. But still, it isn't fair! He never used to keep secrets from me; we had adventures together. And now he's forgotten me, or he's embarrassed and thinks I'm stupid, and I don't know which idea I hate more."

_"Things change, Ginevra. You cannot expect Ron to stay a child forever, nor can you remain the same. He has new friends and new interests. You have me. I hope I'm not too poor a substitute."_

"Never! I just miss him..." Ginny trailed off, quill sliding aimlessly across the page. The ink trail vanished, all evidence of her carelessness sucked away and hidden wherever Tom lived. All her words vanished that way, swallowed into blankness -- was that what she seemed like to everyone else? Blank, boring, silly, unimportant little girl?

At least Tom listened. Tom remembered. Tom answered.

_"I miss my friends too,"_ he wrote. _"They're all old now, if they're still alive -- 60, 70 years old. Sometimes I wonder what happened to them. I wonder what happened to me. You didn't know my name, after all... do I work in a shop? Do I live as a Muggle? Did I move overseas? Am I dead? It's strange to live in here, half awake through year after year after year with no knowledge of the world, no way to truly become an adult._

_"At least you still see your brother."_

"Tom, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you sad! You're right, I'm much better off and I do still have my family and I know they're still around even if I don't always like them--"

_"GINEVRA!"_ Tom's writing sliced across her fading words. _"Listen to me, Ginevra. I did not mean to imply that your troubles are insignificant. I merely meant to show that you're not alone in missing the past. I'm sorry my words came out badly -- sometimes my memories catch me and I misspeak myself. Please don't worry."_

Ginny gnawed her lip, which had gone unaccountably wobbly. "I'm sorry Tom. I just feel bad for you, like you feel bad for me. You're my friend."

_"I cannot begin to say how grateful I am for your friendship,"_ wrote Tom. _"But some things about my situation cannot be helped, and crying over them will get us nowhere. Your troubles, however, are in the present and can be dealt with, which is why I focus on you. I like helping you. If you truly want to help me, someday I may find a way to escape this diary; then you can repay the favor. Until then, don't worry about me."_

"I can't help worrying. But I'll try not to get upset. And I will set you free somehow, Tom, I promise. Cross my heart."

Tom was silent for a moment. _"Thank you, Ginevra,"_ he wrote finally. _"I am proud to be your friend; you have a warm heart. Still, I believe we agreed that your problems were more pressing than mine... and one of those problems is a four foot Herbology paper. Am I correct?"_

"Yes Tom. I'll get started. But you have to promise to think of ways to get out of the diary."

_"Right at this moment?"_

"Yes," wrote Ginny. "If I have to work, you have to work too. Fair is fair."

_"True. Until later, Ginevra."_

"Thanks, Tom."

Ginny shut the diary and slid it under her pillow. Tom was right about her paper and he was probably right that she shouldn't follow Harry and Ron tomorrow. She could use the time to get ahead in her classes; she knew exactly what to do with the free time she'd earn. The Hogwarts library had books on almost any area of magic imaginable -- surely she could find something to set Tom free. She wouldn't tell him; it would be a present for him, a secret just for herself.

Ginny pulled out her Herbology charts, smiling at the thought of Tom's reaction. It would be the best present ever.

\---------------------------------------------

Saturday evening inexorably arrived and Gryffindor tower hummed with activity and cheerful voices. Ginny sprawled on her bed, flipping through a journal of Herbology research -- a lot of it went over her head but what she understood was fascinating. The other four girls bustled around the room, checking each others' hair and earrings, and discussing Jia-li's crush on Danny and Apple's supposed interest in Colin.

"Coming, Ginny?" asked Gwen shortly after six. "You haven't dressed."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm not going. I have work."

Susan looked upset. "You can't have that much work -- we're in all your classes and we have time for the banquet. And we haven't talked in ages. Come on, Ginny."

"I have extra work for Herbology. Professor Sprout asked me to be one of her assistants."

"That's great! But she'll understand about the banquet -- and won't you be hungry? You look pale and you shouldn't miss dinner," said Jia-li.

"I saved a sandwich from lunch. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me." Ginny focused on her reading, ignoring the puzzled looks and Apple's knowing gaze. Why wouldn't they leave? She wanted to talk to Tom.

A few minutes later a sixth year prefect stuck her head into the room to call everyone down. "You're sure you don't want to come?" asked Susan as the others filed out.

"Yes I'm sure!" said Ginny, waving the Herbology journal in exasperation. "Look, I'll be fine. Go have fun and let me work in peace."

"Oh, fine. Be that way." Susan strode out, banging the door behind her. Ginny sighed in relief.

Setting the journal on her night table, she pulled Tom's diary from under her pillow. "Dear Tom, it's Halloween and everyone's left for the banquet," she wrote. "I got a Herbology journal from Madam Pince this afternoon and I thought I could read it in the common room. What do you think?"

_"The common room is appropriate for work, but I think perhaps you should focus on something a bit closer to home, such as your paper,"_ wrote Tom. _"Extracurricular reading is not immediately useful. The paper, however, will be marked."_

"Toad-licker. You're right though. I'll grab my notes and head downstairs. Talk to you later."

_"Of course, Ginevra."_

Ginny tucked the diary under her arm and slowly descended the stairs, carrying her notes, writing supplies, and two books for reference. Tom was right -- she did need to work on her Herbology paper -- but it wasn't nearly as interesting as the journal. She already knew the material. The journal, on the other hand, was full of new ideas, unknown plants, breeding techniques, ways to blend Herbology with other disciplines... she itched to read more.

The common room was deserted, every other inhabitant of Gryffindor tower having left for the banquet. Ginny sank into one of the sofas next to the fire, laying her books on the low table in front of her. She sighed in comfort. First years almost never got to sit by the fire unless the older students were out -- she could see why they guarded those seats.

Yawning, she opened the diary. "Hi Tom, I'm in the common room now, sitting by the fire. Do you want to talk or are you going to make me work?"

_"I'm a cruel taskmaster, am I? Well, who am I to disagree with your assessment? To your paper, Ginevra; we can talk anytime but the paper has a deadline."_

Ginny felt like whining. "But it's so comfortable here and I don't want to think about fertilizing potions. I'll fall asleep."

_"Then don't sit by the fire,"_ responded Tom, _"and stop fishing for sympathy. I used to attend Hogwarts too; I know all the ways to weasel out of work. I also know the results of procrastination. Read. Write. We'll talk later."_

"Meanie." Ginny crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at Tom's fading words before grabbing a sheet of parchment and starting to outline her paper.

She had only been working for fifteen minutes, pausing now and then to scribble a comment to Tom, when a noise from the dormitory stairs caught her ear. Ginny slammed the diary closed and slipped it under her notes before fading into the corner behind an armchair-- nobody was supposed to be in the tower. What was going on?

Hermione -- what was Hermione doing here? -- walked to the boys' staircase and called, "Harry! Ron! Get down now or we'll be late."

"He's been dead five hundred years, Hermione, five minutes won't matter." Ron's voice echoed down the stairs and Hermione grimaced.

"Honestly," she muttered, then raised her voice again. "Harry, bring him down. I don't care if Sir Nicholas is dead -- it's rude to be late."

"We're coming, Hermione," said Harry, clattering down the stairs. Ron grumbled along behind him.

"Explain to me again why we're going to this stupid party," said Ron. "All right, Harry promised, but why can't I go to the banquet? I want pudding -- there might be dancing skeletons -- last year's was all a mess with the bloody troll--"

"Watch your language, Ron! It'll be educational -- who else will be able to say they've been to a ghost's Deathday party? Now _move_ , we're going to be _late_." Hermione latched onto the boys' arms and dragged them to the portrait hole. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who shrugged minimally and clambered out of the room.

Ginny stepped from the shadows, thankful the trio had missed her presence. They were going to a Deathday party for Nearly Headless Nick? Interesting, but hardly worthy of being a secret, and certainly not worth almost giving her a heart attack.

"Dear Tom," she wrote in the diary, having rescued it from under her papers, "Harry, Ron, and Hermione just went out; they're skipping the banquet and going to a Deathday party for Nearly Headless Nick, our house ghost. I guess that was their big secret. Hermione scared me when she came into the room so I hid -- I don't think they saw me."

_"Interesting. That's a fairly innocuous secret, but you're probably best off keeping your knowledge to yourself, since they have no idea you saw them and they have told no one else."_

"Okay. Back to Herbology, before I fall asleep."

Ginny returned to her notes, jotting down results and trying different ways of grouping the fertilizers. It was tedious work involving little thought, and she soon found herself drifting off. The fire was warm, the chair soft, and the light low -- she felt syrupy and her eyelids weighed several pounds each. Ginny sighed.

"Tom, I'm falling asleep," she wrote. "I think I'll go to bed now, before everyone gets back from the banquet. I'll finish the outline tomorrow."

_"That sounds like avoidance, Ginevra -- are you sure you'll get up early enough?"_ asked Tom.

"Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle, I'm not a baby. Good night." Ginny snapped the diary shut and gathered her supplies. Friend or not, there were times when Tom was too much like her brothers, eager to tell her what to do, so sure he knew what was best. Idiot. It wasn't her fault she was tired -- but maybe Percy and Jia-li were right and she should see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow.

Teeth brushed, nightdress on, and diary under pillow, Ginny slid into bed with a heavy yawn. A quarter past seven was awfully early, but she was so tired... She really had to get more sleep. Her last thought as she drifted off was that she'd forgotten to eat her sandwich and Percy would undoubtedly lecture her tomorrow.

\---------------------------------------------

_The dark man stood behind the princess as she faced the dragon, half-wakened from its slumber. -Obey- she told it, and it bowed its head in recognition of the heir. -Climb- she told it, and its great coils rasped against each other as it unwound._

_She rode the dragon from the hidden chamber into the upper castle, the dark man at her shoulder. His voice whispered in her ears. -Who falls first, my lady? Who fears? Who falls?-_

_-The sorceress- she almost said, but a beast came upon them, a cunning, slinking beast with lamp-lit eyes, one of the invaders' spies. It hissed in warning and she raised her hands before her face. -Defend me- she cried as the creature roared and sprang, and the dragon gazed upon the slavering beast._

_The princess huddled against the walls while the dragon fought, and the dark man placed his hands upon her shoulders. -Rest, my lady- his voice echoed in her ears. -Rest and do not fear- And she rested, but she still feared._

_And the beast was gone, its yowling silenced, but footsteps echoed through the halls. -Return- she cried to the dragon, sending it back to its lair, back to its slumbers, and she ran from the battle, the dark man's voice whispering in her ears._

_-Flee, my lady, the others come. Let them fear. Let them fall. Flee, my lady, the others come: beasts in shadow, blood in darkness. Flee, my lady, flee-_

_The princess fled, through the halls, through the chambers; through the broken, empty castle the princess fled. And fled. And fled._

_The shadows crashed behind like waters._

Water splashed over the sink basin, dripping onto her feet. Ginny shrieked and scuttled back, slipping on wet tiles. What in the name of the Founders was she doing here? And awake?

Oh. Sleepwalking. Again.

Ginny shook her head, trying to remember the dream that seemed to accompany her wandering -- this one was even stranger than the others. She'd found the dragon, but she couldn't remember where or what it looked like. There had been a beast and a battle. And a dark man? Who could he be?

More to the point, where was she and what had she been doing when she woke up? Ginny looked around. Unless Hogwarts was stranger than she thought, she was in the lower Gryffindor girls' bathroom -- Gwen's Holyhead Harpies towel hung next to Susan's flowered monstrosity, and Jia-li's basket of bath oils and whatnot sat in the corner next to Apple's battered wooden sandals. The sink was still dripping, reddish water draining too slowly to keep the floor dry.

Ginny shut off the tap and fished through the water until she found the drain, choked by something thick and oozing. She jerked her fingers back -- they dripped red paint. She glanced at her left hand and saw reddish stains under her fingernails. Sticking her hand back into the water, she scooped the paint from the drain, mixing it into the water and watching the mess gurgle away into the pipes.

Why did she have paint on her hands? Why so much paint, thick enough to clog a drain and stain the floor pink? Ginny flinched at that thought -- she had to get everything clean before anyone returned from the banquet. Or had they already returned? What time was it? What if someone saw her?

Grabbing a hand towel, Ginny mopped the pink from the floor, splashing clear water all over in her haste. The paint filtered into the towel, staining the green fibers brown. Ginny shoved the sodden thing into the laundry hamper; the house elves would keep their mouths shut about anything out of place.

She frowned at her hands and the sink, both still stained. Hot water should take care of the sink. Her hands... Ginny let the water run and scrabbled at the paint gummed under her nails and worked into the cracks of her knuckles. She had to get rid of the evidence -- nobody could know she sleepwalked -- she was supposed to be in bed...

Noise broke her concentration, an excited babble surging into the common room and up the stairs. Abandoning the sink, Ginny dashed across the landing and dove into her bed, barking her shins on the frame in the darkness. Her wet nightdress clung to her back and knees.

The door banged open. "Ginny? Oi, Ginny, wake up!" called Susan as someone waved on the lights. "You won't believe what happened -- you really should have come -- absolutely the creepiest thing I've ever seen -- I still can't believe it was Harry Potter who did it--"

"Did what?" asked Ginny sharply, hugging her quilt to her chest. "What did Harry do?"

"Killed Mrs. Norris!"

" _May_ have killed her," said Apple, frowning at the other girls. "She might only have been cursed -- the Headmaster took her away to examine -- but she was stiff as a board and hanging from a torch bracket outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"Yeah," said Susan, breaking in. "We came up from the banquet -- the professors said something about fireworks on the parapets -- and Harry Potter and your brother and Hermione Granger were standing in front of a great puddle with Mrs. Norris strung up dead, and red writing on the wall! It was creepy, I tell you!"

"Red writing?" Ginny tucked her hands under the covers.

Jia-li nodded. "It was on the wall across from the bathroom, in big, dripping letters--"

"Like blood!" put in Susan.

"Like blood," continued Jia-li. "It said, 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.' And Mrs. Norris was frozen up, staring at us." She shivered. "What if Harry Potter thinks we're enemies? He might come after us!"

"Oh," said Ginny. "Are you sure Harry did it?" Apple looked at her thoughtfully, and Ginny flinched.

Susan stared at Ginny as if she were mad. "Well, of course he did! He was right there, wasn't he? And he skipped the banquet so nobody knows where he was -- plus Filch has it in for him, everyone knows that, and who knows what Harry Potter can do? He practically killed You-Know-Who when he was just a baby -- I bet it gave him ideas!" Gwen and Jia-li nodded.

"Oh," said Ginny again.

"You should've come to dinner -- you'd have been safer with us, not all alone in this tower," said Gwen. "You were awfully lucky."

"Say, that's right -- you were here after we all left," said Susan. "Did you see Harry Potter leave the tower? Or his friends? They were with him too -- maybe he made them kill Mrs. Norris!"

"No!" said Ginny. "I didn't see _anything_. And that's my brother you're talking about; you shut up about him!"

Susan rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine, you were asleep, your brother had nothing to do with it -- no need to shout."

I hate you, Ginny thought, all of you. Go away. "I was asleep and I want to go back to sleep," she said. "Be quiet or leave." She yanked her bed curtains closed and slid further under her quilt, pressing her hand on the diary under her pillow.

"Stuck-up cow," muttered Susan. Ginny bit back a retort, and the room soon quieted as the other girls wandered down to the common room. Finally, peace.

Ginny peeked out of her curtains, making sure Apple was gone too, then pressed the diary open. She paused. How did she explain this to Tom? What exactly was she explaining? What had _happened?_

Her hands were shaking. Ginny peered at them in the dim wandlight; the red specks grew and shrank as her fingers flexed. She ran her hands through her hair, searching for feathers, twigs, anything that might show where she had been. Her nightdress sucked free of her chest, dripping onto her bed. How had it gotten so wet? And... and so red. The front was soaked with red paint, thick streaks stretching fingers to the hem, leaking pink onto her sheets.

She would not scream. She was a Gryffindor -- she was brave -- she would not scream. She would pick up her quill and tell Tom what she knew, and he would tell her what to do. Yes.

Ginny pressed the quill onto the page. "Dear Tom, it's Halloween night and I sleepwalked again. I can't remember what I did, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front and on my hands. There was a message in red paint next to the cat, and I dreamed about the dragon and a beast and I think they fought -- and I think I might have been there when the cat was attacked. I think I might have attacked it, Tom! What do I do?"

Tom responded instantly. _"Ginevra, you're far too kind to attack cats, even while sleepwalking. As to what you should do, first tell me exactly what happened so I know where we stand."_

Ginny drew a deep breath. Right. She was a Gryffindor. She could do this. "I went upstairs and fell asleep. I dreamed I found the dragon; I think I was going to attack the sorceress but a beast found us and the dragon defended me. Then the sorceress's army was coming and someone told me to run, so I ran. Everything got very wet after that and I woke up washing red paint off my hands.

"The paint clogged the sink.

"The others came back from the banquet and I hid in bed. They said Mrs. Norris -- Filch's cat -- had been attacked and maybe killed. She was stiff as a board, they found Harry and Hermione and Ron standing there, and they think Harry did it. He couldn't have done that. Ron and Hermione wouldn't have done that."

She paused and shook the cramp from her hand before continuing the story. "Beside Mrs. Norris there were words on the wall in red paint, saying a chamber of secrets has been opened and enemies of the heir should beware. Tom, I was sleepwalking and I have paint on my hands and my nightdress. Red paint. And I dreamed about a fight. Tom, what did I do?"

Several seconds passed as Ginny's words faded into the page. She scratched at her hands, waiting for Tom to finish thinking.

_"As I see it, there are three options,"_ he wrote finally. _"First, and most unlikely, you attacked the cat and painted a message on the wall. I find this nearly impossible since a totally stiff body implies some type of Petrifying spell. You don't know any. Furthermore, you have no red paint._

True, thought Ginny. Thank goodness.

_"Second, you may simply have stumbled into the wall while sleepwalking. This would account for the paint on your hands and nightdress. However, it doesn't account for your dream, and your dreams do seem to have some connection to your actions while you sleepwalk._

_"Therefore, I think the most likely option is the third: you stumbled upon the person who Petrified Mrs. Norris, watched the cat struggle, and ran when the person turned his or her attention to you. That would account for the battle in your dream, and the advancing army. The person must have already painted the wall, which you bumped into or pressed against while he or she fought the cat. That explains the paint."_

Tom paused; weight settled on Ginny's shoulders. _"Ginevra, you are very lucky to have escaped tonight."_

Oh God. Tom was right. She must have walked right into that person and nearly died. No wonder she was scared when she woke up. No wonder she'd been shaking.

"Tom, what do I do?" she asked again. Make it better, make it safe, make it go away.

_"Do you remember anything clearly enough to be useful in an investigation?"_

"No. I just remember a beast and something dark, and staying against a wall. I was asleep!"

_"I know, Ginevra; my apologies. Since you have no useful information, perhaps you should keep this to yourself. Coming forward will only make you a clear target for the attacker -- who may not have seen you clearly in the dark."_ Tom hesitated.

"And? I know there's something more you want to say."

_" And, from what you said, Harry Potter and your brother are being accused simply for having the bad luck to discover the cat, though from your words, I can't imagine how anyone could think Harry Potter would attack anyone. If you say you might have been there during the attack, imagine what people will say about you. They're cruel enough already; why borrow trouble?"_

That was true, thought Ginny. Nasty, but true. The Gryffindors had abandoned her for Daphne and only Xanthe was willing to be her friend. If people suspected her, it would be ten times worse. Her brothers wouldn't help: Percy would sniff and say she was a disgrace, Fred and George would tease her, and Ron had almost forgotten she existed. Harry might protect her if he noticed, but everyone already thought he was evil and she'd only make it worse.

She stiffened at another unpleasant thought -- Sprout might not let her work in the greenhouses. She couldn't let that happen. Nobody was going to think she was mad for sleepwalking or think she might have attacked a cat. If they could blame Harry they could blame anyone. Besides, Tom was right; she hadn't seen anything and she had to protect herself in case the attacker thought she had.

"You're right, Tom. I won't say anything. The professors will find out what happened, people will stop blaming Harry, and nobody has to know I was there."

_"Very good, Ginevra. I'm glad you'll be sensible; I would never want anything to harm you. I came too close to losing you tonight."_

Ginny shivered, seeing a dark figure looming over her, dead cat dangling from its hand. How close had she come to sharing Mrs. Norris's fate? "Thank you, Tom. I don't want anything bad to happen to you either. But it's getting late and I should go to sleep before the others come up."

_"True. Sleep well, Ginevra. Pleasant dreams."_

"Goodnight Tom."

Ginny set the diary beside her bed. Tired as she was, she couldn't sleep just yet; she had to clean. The nightdress and the pink-stained sheets went in the laundry for the house-elves, and she remade the bed herself. A quick scrub washed the paint from her front, a brush straightened her tangled hair, and another Herbology article soothed her mind. Finally she felt ready for sleep.

The diary lay warm under Ginny's hand as her fingers stroked the binding. If a person watched closely, she might have noticed faint misty tendrils seeping from the pages, winding around those fingers, but no one was there to see.


	6. The Mechanics of Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Sixth: In which tensions rise after Mrs. Norris is found Petrified, and neither her family nor Tom can soothe Ginny's anger and fear. Guest-starring Sir Vladislav the enchanted suit of armor!

All through Sunday Hogwarts buzzed with the strange attack on Mrs. Norris -- who, it was revealed, was _not_ dead, merely Petrified -- and Harry Potter's apparent guilt. Ginny suffered through breakfast before hiding in a dimly-lit corner of the library, scratching away at her Herbology assignment. Four feet was nothing. She avoided everyone so successfully that her paper was over five feet by dinner, and the annotations she added in the evening brought it to six and a half even.

Tom politely refrained from commenting on this burst of effort.

Monday morning Ginny gritted her teeth through Double Potions, determinedly not responding to Snape's jibes about the lengths to which the "Great Harry Potter" would go to maintain his fame. The Slytherins were divided between fear of Petrification and pride that someone from _their_ house had got rid of Mrs. Norris. When Ginny demanded that Electra explain this claim, her partner snorted.

"Weasley wants to know about the Heir," she said, turning to Daphne and Ruth. "Should we tell her?"

Daphne faked surprise. "Weasley? God forbid! Let her stew." The Slytherins' laughter grated across Ginny's ears.

History of Magic was no better -- everyone ignored Binns as usual and traded theories on who Harry's enemies might be and how his friends were involved. Ginny felt like beating her head against a wall. She was fairly sure the first years were sensible people, taken one by one, but in a group they had less sense than Colin on his own! Couldn't they see there was no evidence against Harry at all? Why did they have to _enjoy_ accusing him so much? And they kept asking her about Ron as if he had been an evil-minion-in-training from birth.

To make matters worse, Professor Sprout snagged her sleeve during lunch and postponed her first extra Herbology session to Thursday. Ginny smiled and nodded, seething inside. She'd been looking forward to plants and an escape from her housemates all day, and now Sprout snatched it away from her.

She wanted nothing more than to pour out her frustration to Tom -- she had only been able to complain about the Potions chapters Snape assigned before the other Gryffindors piled into Binns's classroom and fired questions at her -- but just as she was about to slip up to the girls' rooms, Ron rushed up and caught her shoulder, saying, "Ginny, Ginny--"

"What do you want?"

He flinched slightly at her tone. "Ginny, are you all right? It's been mad -- I looked for you yesterday but you weren't anywhere."

Oh, not _now_. "I was in the library," said Ginny. "Everyone was going on and on about everything, saying horrible things about Harry and you and Hermione, and laughing about Mrs. Norris, and asking me what I thought about it, and -- and I had to get away."

"Listen, you know we had nothing to do with it!" said Ron.

Ginny glared at him. "Of course I know that! I just couldn't listen anymore, they were being so awful. And poor Mrs. Norris..." She blinked rapidly, eyes prickling as she remembered how close she had come to sharing Mrs. Norris's fate. Would everyone have laughed about her too?

"But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her."

Better off without her. Mrs. Norris was nasty, but how could he say that? She didn't deserve to be Petrified; she was only a cat...

"Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," continued Ron. "They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled."

Ginny blanched. The Heir was probably looking for more victims right now. What if he came after her? She'd been there, after all. She'd seen him, even if she couldn't remember.

"I'm only joking," said Ron hastily, alarmed by her expression. "I don't really want anyone Petrified. Come on, Ginny, this'll be over before you know it."

"I hope so," she said, and gave her brother a wan smile. "I have to read for Potions now."

Ron pulled a sour face. "Potions, ugh -- tough luck, that. See you around." He ambled off towards Harry and Hermione, who were waiting by the portrait hole, isolated by several yards of empty tables and chairs. Ginny frowned at the reminder of people's idiocy.

Shaking her head, she turned back to the stairs, only to hear Percy's voice ring across the room: "Ginny, there you are!"

Ginny counted to ten as he strode towards her. Brothers. Never there when she needed them but now they popped up from the woodwork? Toad-lickers. Filthy, stinking toad-lickers. She needed to be _alone_. "Hi, Percy," she said, and sat down on the stairs. Obviously she wasn't getting away any time soon.

"Ginny, you have to stop disappearing this way. I owled Mum yesterday, of course, and I couldn't say a word about you since you weren't here," said Percy. "She'll be out of her mind by now."

"Sorry," muttered Ginny. "I was in the library working on my Herbology assignment."

"Alone in the library the day after an attack? Ginny! Don't you _ever_ do anything like that again." Percy paused. "Why were you in the library? You can work perfectly well in the common room, where people are around to keep an eye on you."

"They were saying things about Harry and Ron," said Ginny, "really awful things, so I went away." Pressure built behind her eyes -- she was so tired -- she had to hold it in. Why couldn't Percy just go away?

Percy managed to give the impression of rolling his eyes without actually stooping to such an undignified action. "Other people's behavior, this foolish jumping to conclusions, doesn't excuse foolishness on your part. You ought to have the strength of character to ignore accusations -- even Ron's managing in a worse position than yours, after all. Now pull yourself together. The culprit will be apprehended shortly and Professor Sprout will have her Mandrakes ready to cure Mrs. Norris come spring."

Ginny felt tears prickling her eyes again at the reminder of Mrs. Norris. She'd never thought she could dislike a cat before she'd met Filch's mangy companion, but disagreeable as Mrs. Norris was, there was something touching about her loyalty to the caretaker. The cat had likely been patrolling the halls for Filch when she happened upon the attacker and his paint... and for no more reason than that, she was frozen like stone, good as dead.

Ginny sniffled. She wasn't going to cry.

"Ginny?" Percy's voice softened a trifle. "Nothing will happen to you. Nobody has any reason to attack you. You know that."

But he did! She'd seen him! He must remember her -- red hair was hard to overlook -- and he would come for her. And he might not settle for Petrification next time.

Ginny fought the wail building in her chest. She was a Weasley, even if she was a girl and only eleven She was a Gryffindor. And she was _not_ going to cry.

The first sob burst through her choked throat and she threw herself against Percy. "I'm so scared!" she wailed. "Mrs. Norris is Petrified, nobody knows who did it, everyone says Harry did it and I know he didn't do it! Everyone says he's going to be expelled, they say it's all Ron's fault -- he's going to come after me, the Heir is going to come after _me_ , and I'm so scared!"

Percy inched his arm around her shoulders and patted her back with his fingertips. "There, there," he said awkwardly. "Don't cry. You'll be safe -- Ron and Harry will be perfectly fine -- there now -- don't cry..."

Ginny sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve. Her eyes itched and her nose was dripping. Sticky tear-tracks meandered down her cheeks. "Sorry," she muttered, letting go of her brother.

"That's all right," said Percy. "I don't mind." His tone implied that he minded quite a lot, actually, but Ginny knew he would rather die than admit it.

"I should take you to the hospital wing for some Pepperup potion," he said suddenly. "You're still pale and this upset can't have helped."

"You don't have to bother," said Ginny, alarmed. Please, anything but Pepperup potion; she was developing an irrational dread of that medicine. "I was just going to read for Potions -- maybe take a nap -- I'll be fine."

"A nap? At _this_ hour? That's it -- get up, we're going to see Madam Pomfrey." Percy grabbed her hand and hauled her over to the portrait hole.

"But I'm fine!" protested Ginny, bracing her free arm against the open frame. "I didn't need any potion the last time you did this and I don't need any now either."

Percy gritted his teeth and lifted Ginny out of the common room, in full sight of everyone. Ginny's face burned. "What is it about our family that makes you lot refuse to admit that anything might be wrong?" he asked, as the Fat Lady swung shut behind them. "It isn't the least bit brave, just foolish -- you're all idiots, plain and simple. Now come on."

Madam Pomfrey fully agreed with Percy's assessment, tipped a spoonful of potion into Ginny's mouth, and ordered her to rest. "Don't forget to eat supper, and go to sleep early," she added. "Putting up a brave front, or completing your work, isn't nearly as important as keeping your health. I swear you children would never take care of yourselves if I didn't force you to."

Ginny slid through the portrait hole and slunk across the common room, ears smoking and eyes fixed on the carpet. If she never mentioned this afternoon again, maybe no one would remember what had happened. Her one consolation was that Harry had left before her humiliation.

Flopping onto her bed, she pulled the diary from her bag and dropped her school things to the floor. Parchment sheets spilled from the open bag, fluttering over the stone tiles. Ginny eyed them, decided the mess was too irritating to ignore, and rolled to her feet. She gathered her scattered pages, stacked them in a neat pile, and weighted the stack with Bathilda Bagshot's _A History of Magic_.

Mum's training satisfied, Ginny tucked her hair behind her ears and opened the diary. "Dear Tom," she wrote, "today's been just awful. Professor Sprout postponed my Herbology session and everyone's talking about Halloween, saying Harry attacked Mrs. Norris and he's the Heir, whatever that means. I wanted to get away and talk to you, but Ron came and stuck his nose in. He thinks Petrifying people is a joke! And that Mrs. Norris deserved it!

"After he left, Percy jumped down my throat about being in the library yesterday. He said it's dangerous to be alone even though the Heir has no reason to come after me -- except he does have a reason, Tom! I was alone all of yesterday. What if he'd come for me? I tried not to, but I cried on Percy."

Ginny scowled, remembering what had happened next. "And then, instead of letting me alone, he dragged me off for more Pepperup potion even though I was fine. He picked me up and carried me out through the portrait hole! I can't believe he did that -- it was the most embarrassing moment in my life. I hate that everyone can push me around like that."

_"I'm sorry to hear you've had such an unpleasant day, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom. _"As your unofficial brother, I promise not to treat you as badly as your blood family -- for one thing, I'm unable to lift you through doorways -- but Percy did make a valid point. I don't want you hiding in out of the way corners until the Heir is captured."_

Ginny sighed. "Oh all right. Staying near idiots is better than being Petrified." She shivered briefly at the thought of a dark shadow falling over her and a slow, chilling stiffness creeping through her body. Pushing the image from her mind, she bent back to the page. "Say, Tom, do you know anything about a Chamber of Secrets or an Heir? The Slytherins were awfully smug about it in Potions; they kept saying only someone from their house could be clever enough to knock off Mrs. Norris."

Tom paused, a thoughtful air seeping from the pages. _"There is a legend in Slytherin house,"_ he wrote eventually, _"that when Salazar Slytherin was chased from Hogwarts, he left a guardian beast in a hidden chamber. Only his heir could find and open this chamber. What the beast was, why Slytherin left it, and who his heir would be -- these are unknown. One assumes the heir would be in Slytherin house, however."_

"So someone in Slytherin found the chamber and let the beast out?" asked Ginny.

_"It seems likely."_

"Creepy. I hope the professors find him soon." She would not think about being Petrified or killed. She would _not_.

_"I'm sure they will,"_ wrote Tom. _"Now, you said before that you hate being pushed around with no way to protect yourself, correct?"_

"Yeah. Just because my brothers know more magic than I do and they're bigger than I am. I hate it."

_"I offered earlier to teach you some spells outside the normal curriculum. Would you like me to fulfill that offer? I know many spells that would allow you to protect yourself, or to strike your enemies before they strike you."_

A smile stretched across Ginny's face. "You'd teach me spells like that? I'd love that! And then I can finally get back at Daphne in Potions!"

_"Of course I'd teach you; I wouldn't have offered if I weren't willing, and I take care of anyone I like and trust. I'm glad you're willing to accept my help."_

Ginny frowned at the tinge of melancholy in Tom's words. "Did someone turn you away because you tried to help? Because that's awful."

Tom paused for nearly half a minute before answering; Ginny had almost touched quill to paper again before words swam up through the pages. _"Do you remember what I told you of Rose Winterbourne, in September?"_

"Yes," replied Ginny, puzzled. "She was in Ravenclaw and she was with you for a little, but she was only using you to make someone else jealous. Right?"

_"Yes. There might have been a time when she saw me as a person rather than a tool, but she would never let me do anything for her or help her in any way. I was always beneath her."_ Tom slowed, forming his words letter by letter rather than all in a piece. _"It is painful to feel unwanted by one you love. I tried to show that I was worthy of her consideration, but she rejected me. I was a halfblood, an orphan raised by Muggles, with no connections in the wizarding world. When I finally confessed my love, she laughed and told me that my attentions had brought her to Edward Shacklebolt's eye, and she therefore had no more need to dirty herself with my company."_

Ginny gasped in sympathetic horror.

_"I began creating this diary shortly thereafter, partly so I could sort through my feelings -- one has to put a great deal of oneself into a construct like this -- and partly to provide a friend to others, so they would not, perhaps, rush so far down foolish paths as I had."_

"Tom! I can't believe it -- she laughed at you and said you were dirty? After you told her you loved her! How can anyone be that cruel?" Ginny's quill dug into the page, scoring her letters into the paper.

_"Much though I wish otherwise, what I told you is true. I don't, however, believe Rose was intentionally cruel. She simply saw me as a useful distraction and discarded me when I had served my purpose. Her betrayal was a result of her upbringing; I cannot truly blame her for not seeing past her prejudice. I was raised among Muggles, which left me at a severe disadvantage in the wizarding world, and made many of my thoughts alien to her."_

Ginny kicked her mattress, wishing she had something useless to throw and break against the wall. "I hate it that we can't all get along," she wrote. "I hate it. We have to hide from Muggles because they'd want magic and we can't give it to them, but that means Muggle-borns don't know anything about magic and lets everyone else pick on them. And then everyone thinks Muggles are worthless because they don't have magic and it's so easy to fool them, which means people pick on Muggle-borns even more. And we get whole layers of blood purity, plus all the class nonsense, mixed into it all -- I hate it." She kicked the bed again, making the springs creak in protest.

"Just because you didn't fit, she acted as if you weren't human. And she didn't even care. She didn't even notice. I bet the Heir of Slytherin is like that. Anyone who attacks defenseless cats has to be heartless." She paused, then added, "Even if the cat is Mrs. Norris," just to be fair.

Tom paused; as a faint breath of air stirred the pages, Ginny imagined him sighing. _"Nothing in life is ever as straightforward as we might wish, Ginevra, but we keep trying. One must have a goal for which to strive. Perhaps you can work to solve the problems of integrating Muggle-born children into our world. I, at present, am working to escape this diary -- yes, I remember your command."_

_"In any case,"_ he continued, _"before I can teach you extra spells, you should read for Potions unless you want to be unprepared before Snape. Please humor Percy and stay in Gryffindor Tower; I'm sure you can work adequately here."_

"I promise to be good, Tom," wrote Ginny, fighting a smile. "I'll show Snape next week, and with your help I can make sure Daphne stays out of it." She closed the cover on her fading words, slipped the diary under her pillow, and fished her copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ from her dresser.

Arsenius Jigger was a dreadfully stuffy writer but he had a genius for organizing reactions by ingredients, brewing conditions, and end products -- and if you paid attention to him, Snape's lessons were easy. Snape expected students to derive general principles from specific potions, which was nearly impossible -- Ginny suspected he enjoyed setting people up for failure -- but Jigger explained principles first. He had saved her from several narrow squeaks already. Ginny smiled, pressed back the pages, and buried herself in chapter seven.

\---------------------------------------------

Tuesday failed to break the tension hovering over the school, and despite an enjoyable Herbology lesson, Ginny's mood darkened steadily, fed by constant reminders of Halloween. Wednesday morning she woke, tired and grumpy, from another dream of the princess; the blasted dream figment had spent hours hunting for enemies since a dragon wasn't much good without a target. At least she hadn't sleepwalked this time, thought Ginny. That would have been entirely too dangerous with the Heir still at large.

Listening to Lockhart at eight in the morning soon ruined what little cheer she'd gathered. The idiot rambled on about the various mysteries he'd solved and how naturally he'd find the Heir in no time, not to worry! He bestowed a blinding smile on the Gryffindors. Susan, Jia-li, Gwen, and Colin smiled back; Apple scowled; and the boys muttered amongst themselves. Ginny clenched her hands under her desk until the lesson dragged to an end.

Professor McGonagall frowned as the Gryffindors pushed into the Transfiguration classroom. "This is a classroom, not a Quidditch match," she said after two unsuccessful attempts to begin her lesson. She rapped her wand sharply against Susan's desk. "Miss Ward, stop talking and pay attention. That applies to the rest of you as well."

The lesson -- turning pebbles into buttons -- went badly. Only Apple managed more than one hole in her pebble, and even she couldn't change her button into anything other than stone. Professor McGonagall called them off ten minutes early, assigned two feet on the differences between changes of shape and changes of composition, shooed them into the corridor, and nearly slammed the door behind them.

The Gryffindors looked askance at each other. "Now what?" asked Susan.

"It's too early for lunch," said Eugene. "Let's go to the library and work on the essay."

"Work now? You're as bad as Apple," said Jasper, grinning. Apple sighed. Ginny concealed a tiny smile; it was far less than the girl deserved.

"No, he's right," said Danny unexpectedly. "We should go to the library, but not for Transfiguration. We need to find out about the Chamber of Secrets -- what might be in it."

"I looked yesterday," said Apple, before anyone else could respond. "There are no references to a Chamber of Secrets in any of the standard histories or folktale collections, and all the copies of _Hogwarts: A History_ are checked out. Unless one of you is hiding a copy...?" She cast a speculative glance at her housemates.

"My mother bought me one when I got my letter," said Jia-li, flushing a delicate pink as she glanced at Danny. "I think it's at the bottom of my trunk."

"Great!" said Danny. "Let's go back to the common room -- see what it says."

The first years hurried back to Gryffindor tower, Ginny trailing behind. She didn't want to associate with the others, but she very much wanted information about the Chamber of Secrets -- anything that might help her avoid the mysterious Heir.

Jia-li fetched her book and handed it to Apple, who flicked rapidly through the index. "Not under 'secrets,'" she mumbled. "'Chamber,' then? Aha! 'See also, Slytherin, Salazar; Founders, legends of; Muggle-born wizards, education of, disputes over.' Interesting."

"Who cares what the cross-listings are!" said Jasper. "We're not all know-it-alls like you. Just find what it actually says."

"Yeah, Apple, get on with it," added Susan, hitching her chair closer to the other first years.

"Oh, hush," snapped Apple, flicking toward the front of the massive book. "You're all unspeakably thick -- the cross-listings are a source of information themselves. We now know that the Chamber of Secrets has to do with the Founders, specifically Slytherin, and also with educating Muggle-born wizards and witches."

"Snob," muttered Susan to Danny, just loud enough so that Apple would overhear.

Apple glared at her. "You should pay attention. You're Muggle-born, so this is particularly important for you. But I've found it." She paused, skimming over the page. "It's tedious; I'll summarize. Hogwarts was founded roughly a thousand years ago by two wizards and two witches -- Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. They created the house system because they valued different characteristics in their students. After a while, they had an argument over whether to admit and teach Muggle-born students. Slytherin, who fought against the inclusion of Muggle-borns, lost the argument and left the school. This is reasonably well-documented."

Apple sucked in a breath and continued. "The Chamber of Secrets is a legend associated with this argument and Slytherin's subsequent departure. Supposedly he left a monster in a hidden chamber within Hogwarts. His heir will release it and purge all Muggle-born students from the school. Versions differ as to whether the beast will simply drive them out, or whether it will--" Apple stopped abruptly and stared at the page, then slowly finished her sentence: "Or whether it will kill them.

"Many wizards have searched for this Chamber over the centuries. Nobody has ever found any sign of it." She lowered the book to her lap, staring thoughtfully at the page. "That's not quite what I was expecting," she said.

Ginny couldn't help but agree. Tom's version of the story hadn't been nearly so unsettling. Then again, his had come from Slytherin and they were against Muggle-borns, so naturally they wouldn't mind the monster so much. _They_ wouldn't have to worry; their precious pure blood ought to protect them.

It ought to protect her, too, really, if she hadn't run into the Heir. Ginny shivered slightly, not sure whether that thought should comfort her. Did she want to be safe when others were in danger through an accident of birth? That wouldn't be very brave.

"Well," said Danny, breaking the silence. "Obviously somebody's found a sign of it now -- he's gone and opened it. Can you imagine -- Harry Potter, the Heir of Slytherin?"

Ginny blinked. Oh, he _wasn't_. He couldn't be that blind, could he? Harry couldn't have anything to do with Slytherin. He was in Gryffindor!

"Maybe that's why You-Know-Who attacked him," said Gwen, leaning forward. "He didn't want competition and he knew Slytherin's Heir was bound to be a dark wizard."

"Rubbish," said Apple, cutting across Colin's indignant protest. "We don't know the Chamber's been opened, or if it even exists, which seems unlikely since no one has found it in over a thousand years. I think this is all a joke in extremely bad taste, and we only play into the perpetrator's hands by believing and fearing this nonsense."

"Oh, you shut it!" shouted Susan. "You never believe anything. You don't believe in Professor Lockhart, you don't believe in the Chamber of Secrets, you always sit off by yourself and think you're so much better than us. Dry up!"

"I didn't believe you when you said Mrs. Norris was dead, either, and I was right, wasn't I?" said Apple calmly. Susan glowered. Apple snapped the book shut and handed it to Jia-li. "Fine. You can reach whatever unjustified conclusions you want. I'm going to start my Transfiguration work." She stalked off toward the girls' dormitories, her plait switching like the tail of an irritated cat.

"Good riddance!" said Jasper. Several people laughed nervously.

Ginny stared at the darkened staircase, tuning out the subsequent conversation, and wondered whether she should be glad of Apple's backhanded support. On the one hand, she wasn't caught up in the general hysteria. On the other, she didn't believe the danger was real, she was unpopular and nobody would listen to her, and, well, she was _Apple_.

Ginny sighed and let the conversation fade back into her awareness. "--if he lets it into Gryffindor tower?" Jia-li was saying. "He knows the password!"

"We could keep watch," suggested Eugene.

Gwen shook her head. "Won't work -- we can't stay up all night, and what spells do we know anyway?"

"We're all going to die!" wailed Jia-li.

Colin looked torn between disgust and excitement. "Harry wouldn't do anything like that!" he said. "He's not a dark wizard, he just isn't."

"Don't be thick, Colin," said Jasper. "Who else could have done it? He's obviously got dark powers! We have to watch out or he'll be after us."

Ginny couldn't restrain herself any longer. "Don't you think," she snapped, "that if he were responsible, he would have done something else by now? Why give you time to work out ways to defend yourselves if he is after you? Which he isn't! And nobody can be a dark wizard as a baby. That's just stupid. People aren't born evil."

"Says you," muttered Susan.

Ginny glared at her and pushed on. "Besides, he stayed at my house this summer and there is _nothing_ strange or evil about him. He's my brother's best friend and you all shut up about this!"

She shot to her feet. "Apple's right -- you're all a bunch of idiots." She stomped toward the staircase, not caring anymore that Apple was upstairs in the bedroom. Cold or not, Daphne's cousin or not, at least she wasn't a toad-licking, scum-sucking, thick-headed, blithering idiot.

Apple looked up from her Transfiguration book as Ginny slammed the bedroom door. "I take it they haven't come to their senses?" she asked.

"Toad-licking, blind-as-a-bat idiots!" shouted Ginny. "No, they bloody well haven't. I hate them." She flung herself onto her bed and seized handfuls of her bedcovers, wringing them tight. "Why are they so stupid?"

"Sometimes," said Apple mildly, "people get hold of an idea and won't let it go, no matter what evidence presents itself to the contrary. People like to have a scapegoat, and people resent fame. Harry Potter was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and thereby made himself a convenient target."

Ginny frowned at her pillow. "They're all toad-lickers," she said. "And they don't even realize they're talking about my brother, too. Ron's not evil!"

Apple paused as if considering her words. "Right now, I doubt they're thinking very deeply about their reactions," she said eventually. "They may be calmer in a few days." She paused again and her dark eyes bored into Ginny. "You should realize, though, that you haven't helped your case by pushing everyone away these past months. They don't want to agree with you, even if they think you might be right."

"Then they're being even more stupid," said Ginny. She rolled upright and grabbed her bag from the floor. "I'm going to the library, to work on Transfiguration."

"Would you like me to come along?" asked Apple.

"No," said Ginny firmly. "I'll be fine."

Apple shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Ginny walked stonily past the other first years in the common room, nursing her anger all the way to the library. She couldn't concentrate on her work all afternoon and finally gave up, returning to the common room to drop off her bag before dinner. She trailed after the other first years on their way through the corridors toward the Great Hall.

Suddenly Harry, Ron, and Hermione appeared from around a corner, pushing through the crowd towards Gryffindor tower. Naturally Colin saw them as well. "Hiya, Harry!" he cried.

Ginny ducked behind Gwen, hoping to avoid her brother's notice.

"Hullo, Colin," said Harry, not turning toward the smaller boy. Good, thought Ginny, don't pay any attention to that twit.

"Harry -- Harry -- a boy in my class has been saying you're--" Colin started, before Jasper shoved him in the back and the first years hurried on toward the Great Hall. "See you, Harry!" squeaked Colin, before they turned the corner.

Ginny, hugging the walls, was better able to resist the flow of people, and saw Harry's expression turn first upset and then closed-off. Her heart sank. Colin was such a toad-licking, idiotic twit! He hadn't done a thing to support Harry -- he'd just made him more upset than before. She slipped forward through the crowd, seething, and wondered if she could spill something with thick gravy on Colin during dinner. If she were careful, Apple would never notice.

She wished everyone would open their eyes and see how stupid they were acting.

\---------------------------------------------

A chance to tip gravy onto Colin did not arise, leaving Ginny to stew in her thoughts. Everyone was acting blind, she thought, but was she any better? She'd been running away, hiding from fear of the Heir. Danny had been right to say they should learn about the Chamber of Secrets. Knowledge was power. She needed to go to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and try to jog her memory.

Excusing herself early, she walked slowly up the front stairs to the first floor, looked around the landing, and sighed. The stairs had moved from Myrtle's corridor to the other side of the stairwell, leaving her to trudge through almost half the first floor toward the out-of-order bathroom. Ginny wasn't quite sure whether she minded; she really didn't want to see the blood-red letters that still decorated the wall despite Filch's efforts to scrub them away. She ought to look around, though. She also ought to ask Myrtle if she'd noticed anything -- though that wasn't likely, come to think of it -- she'd probably been at Nearly Headless Nick's party with all the other ghosts. Ginny frowned. Perhaps she hadn't been invited? It was awful to hope that a ghost was disliked, but she couldn't help hoping anyhow.

The corridor was deserted -- everyone was still in the Great Hall -- and Ginny got her first uninterrupted look at the site of her nightmares. Foot-high red letters, almost seeming to drip blood as the torchlight flickered over them, were painted between two tall, multi-paned windows across from the bathroom door. A chair stood at the base of the wall -- Filch had been keeping guard, convinced that Harry would return to the scene of his crime and somehow betray his guilt. Ginny shivered.

Nothing about the wall triggered any memory, just unease and a dragging sort of tiredness. She turned slowly, facing the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle was the last person she wanted to deal with now -- she traveled through the pipes and had an unpleasant habit of popping up in other bathrooms, desperate for company -- but she was not about to run away. Ginny gritted her teeth and reached for the brass doorknob.

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" a peevish voice said from the other side of the door. "I _do_ have feelings, you know, even if I _am_ dead--"

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said another voice. Hermione. Ginny froze, hand still on the knob, straining to hear. "Harry only--"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled the first voice, which Ginny now recognized as Myrtle. "My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," said Hermione quickly, interrupting Myrtle's tirade. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" asked a male voice. Harry. Ginny froze further. Of course they'd had the same idea she did. They wanted to find the Heir. She couldn't let them find her, but she needed to know what Myrtle had seen... She waited, ready to flee at a moment's notice.

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to _kill_ myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm -- that I'm--"

"Already dead?" asked Ron.

Ginny winced, knowing Myrtle's likely reaction to that.

Myrtle gave a screeching sob, followed by a loud splash and trickle of water. Dove into the toilet, most likely, thought Ginny. Myrtle always was overdramatic. Muffled sobs, distorted by the toilet and the tiled walls, drifted outward. Ginny released the doorknob and darted down the corridor, into the nook behind a convenient suit of armor. It creaked in surprise, turning to look at her and loosening its sword.

Ginny flinched in shock; the armor was enchanted! "Please pretend I'm not here!" she whispered. "I'm not doing anything wrong, I promise. And I'll -- I'll come back and polish you tomorrow!"

The armor nodded with grave dignity and resumed its guard position, not a moment too soon, as the bathroom door swung open. Harry, Ron, and Hermione emerged, expressions ranging from disgruntled to dejected, and Ginny wondered what they'd been talking about before she'd arrived.

Suddenly a loud voice cut through the heavy air. "RON!"

The trio jumped and Ginny peeked from behind the armor, convinced the world was out to give her a heart attack. Percy stood at the head of the front stairs, which had switched back across the stairwell again, outraged shock painted across his face.

"That's a _girls'_ bathroom!" he gasped. "What were _you_ \--?"

"Just having a look around," said Ron, shrugging. "Clues, you know."

Ginny winced again. For goodness' sake, Ron ought to know how Percy would react to that. Was he _trying_ to upset everyone?

Percy swelled up like Mum, face flushing nearly purple. "Get away from there!" he shouted, striding toward the trio and flapping his arms. "Don't you _care_ what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner--"

"Why shouldn't we be here?" interrupted Ron, standing his ground and glaring at Percy. Ginny cheered silently. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny," said Percy, matching Ron's glare, "but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled. I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out -- you might think of her -- all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business--"

_What?_ Crying her eyes out? Bloody Percy -- that was _private_. Even if she had done it in the common room.

" _You_ don't care about Ginny," said Ron, ears reddening. " _You're_ just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy!"

"Five points from Gryffindor," said Percy, face fixed in a scowl and neck flushing scarlet. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more _detective work_ , or I'll write to Mum!" He strode back toward the staircase, hand clenched over his prefect badge.

Ginny scowled after him. Imagine, lumping her in with all those other twits! And she was not worried that Ron was going to be expelled -- she knew perfectly well he hadn't done it -- she just hated that everyone else thought he and Harry were evil.

Still, see if she said anything nice to him for a while! Ron had some nerve, turning her into an argument with Percy. Couldn't they see this was more important than stupid prefects and Head Boys? Couldn't he see that she was upset? And of course, they threatened each other with Mum. Couldn't do anything because it was right or because they cared about anyone, no, they only did it because they were scared of Mum. Toad-lickers.

She peeked around the suit of armor again and noticed that the others had left. "Thanks," she said to the armor, walking around to the front and patting its foot. The inscription on its pedestal read, _'The armor of Sir Vladislav von Pitula, Wizard, Knight of the Blessed Virgin, and Sworn Brother of the Order of Teutonic Knights, worn during the Battle of Legnica in 1241, where he fell defending Europe from the Mongols.'_ He must have been awfully brave, thought Ginny. She wondered if she would have fought as well as he had, to defend his home and people. Then she winced, realizing she'd have to break her promise -- tomorrow was her first session with Professor Sprout.

"Sir Vladislav?" she began tentatively, "I can't actually come tomorrow -- I have Herbology work -- but I'll come Friday instead. Is that okay?"

The armor gazed at her for a long moment, then nodded gravely.

Ginny turned to leave, but paused as a thought occurred to her. "Sir Vladislav, did you see what happened on Halloween when Mrs. Norris was Petrified?"

The armor shook its helmet. It pointed at the bathroom door, cupped its gauntlets over its earpieces, and then pillowed its gauntlets beside its helmet.

"You were trying to ignore Myrtle so you went to sleep?"

The armor nodded.

Ginny sighed. Enchanted armor slept? Well, she supposed that might be a comfort -- standing eternal guard would get awfully boring -- and it probably wasn't much different from the portraits. "Thanks anyhow, Sir Vladislav. I guess I'll just have to find out on my own. Have a good night."

The armor bent with a creak and clash of metal and leather and patted her shoulder. Ginny smiled and walked toward the stairs, heading for Gryffindor Tower and the diary. She had to talk to Tom.

\---------------------------------------------

The common room was filling up as people returned from dinner, so Ginny stuffed the diary into her bag and set off for the library. Madam Pince nodded approvingly as she disappeared into the Herbology stacks, and Ginny stifled a giggle. It was good to have people on her side.

She settled herself in a musty armchair with brass upholstery tacks and opened the diary. "Dear Tom," she wrote, "today was awful. After Transfiguration, Danny decided we should look up the Chamber of Secrets, so Apple read about it in Hogwarts: A History, and told us what it said. It's a really ugly story -- all about monsters and getting rid of Muggle-borns -- maybe even killing them!

"Then they decided this was just more evidence that Harry's evil. Can't they see he's the last person who'd go around making a monster attack people? Apple told them they were being idiots, but nobody listened. Later Colin tried to talk to Harry and just depressed him. He's a twit."

Ginny paused, loosening her grip before she snapped her quill. "Anyhow, after dinner I went to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom -- that's where they found Mrs. Norris -- to ask if she'd seen anything. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already there, and from what they asked, I think Myrtle hadn't been paying attention -- probably moaning in her toilet. The suit of armor down the corridor didn't see anything either.

"But after they got out of the bathroom, Percy caught them and yelled at them for being in a girls' bathroom and for trying to find out what happened. He said I'm just like the other first years, 'overexcited' or something like that. So Ron said Percy didn't care about me and was just afraid all this would ruin his chances at being Head Boy next year. I can't believe how stupid they are!"

She set the quill aside and shook out her fingers, waiting for Tom's response.

_"That sounds like a very trying day, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom. _"I'm sorry to hear that your housemates are still jumping to conclusions, and being supported by only Colin and Apple doesn't seem comforting."_

Tom paused, as if drawing a breath. _"I hadn't heard that the guardian beast was meant to kill people, though I confess I'm not surprised it's meant to clear Hogwarts of Muggle-born students. Whatever else he was, Salazar Slytherin was certainly an advocate of blood purity and the separation of the magical from the mundane."_

Ginny nearly broke in, but Tom's words continued swimming up from the depths of the pages. _"He had some justification, however, as one of his students from before the founding of Hogwarts later turned on the wizarding community in the name of Christ and led a Muggle army to destroy Slytherin's home, or such is the story in Slytherin house. It's told as an example of why Muggle-born wizards cannot be trusted. I choose to think of it merely as an example of human failings. We're all capable of terrible things, in the blackest depths of our hearts, much though we prefer to think otherwise."_

"That's awfully gloomy," wrote Ginny.

_"I didn't lead a particularly cheerful life, Ginevra. We learn what we're exposed to, and I saw little kindness before I came to Hogwarts."_

Ginny bit her lip. "Still, I don't believe people are as awful as you think, Tom. I think we're mostly nice -- well, except for people like You-Know-Who, but I don't understand him at all -- I don't think he could've been human. Anyhow, even if somebody attacks you, that's no excuse for trying to get back at anyone connected to him. That's just stupid. It would be like me being nasty to Professor Sprout because Snape is an oily git, just because they're both professors."

_"True,"_ wrote Tom after a pause, _"but people can't always think logically and fairly when they're hurt and grieving. Revenge is a powerful impulse, the more so when it has some justification. Even you are not above justified revenge, Ginevra -- remember how you spilled pumpkin juice on Daphne?"_

Ginny smiled. That was a good memory. "Yeah, that was fun. But that's not like this -- I just wanted to get back at her, not get her expelled!"

_"I'm not disagreeing, Ginevra. I'm simply pointing out that there are similarities between your actions and Slytherin's, though I wouldn't go so far as to say his are also justified, merely that they're understandable. Leaving a dangerous beast among children is never justifiable."_

"Right!" wrote Ginny. "And telling people to use it to kill other people, a thousand years after whatever happened to start the problem -- that's horrible. I hope they catch the Heir really soon and expel him, whoever he is."

_"And on that note, let us move on to other topics."_ Ginny nodded, forgetting that Tom couldn't see her. By the time she remembered, he had already continued.

_"Ginevra, you told me I should work on freeing myself from the diary -- a goal I'm certainly happy to work towards. I've remembered a spell that may be of some help. It requires a short ritual, best carried out in privacy. Are you willing to help?"_

"Of course! How soon can we do it?"

Tom seemed slightly taken aback at her quick response. _"Perhaps tomorrow evening? I need to check my memory; it wouldn't do to twist a spell this powerful."_

"Oh, I can't tomorrow! I have my first session with Professor Sprout." Ginny scowled. That was twice she'd had to put something off because of the stupid extra-curricular work, which ought to have been on Monday anyhow. It had better be worth it. "How about Friday? I'll be near Moaning Myrtle's bathroom anyhow -- I promised to polish Sir Vladislav's armor -- and I'm sure I can make Myrtle go away."

_"Wonderful. And now it's growing late; you should return to Gryffindor tower instead of wandering around the library alone. You gave your word not to hide in out of the way corners."_

"Toad-licker. I don't know why I wanted you as a brother -- you're as bad as Percy. I must have been out of my mind."

_"I am never appreciated."_ An air of weariness and suffering seeped from the diary, stirring the top page ever so slightly.

"Stop being so melodramatic," wrote Ginny, grinning.

_"Caught. I am undone. Be off with you, Ginevra. Tell me when you reach the tower safely, and then go to sleep. Princesses need their rest before Astronomy, after all."_

"Toad-licker. I'm not a princess. I just dream about one. Good night, Tom."

_"Good night, Ginevra."_

Ginny slipped the diary back into her bag and walked out of the library, nodding at Madam Pince. The corridors were mostly empty, dimly lit by torches, and the shadows jumped and flickered on the walls. Ginny peered carefully down each side corridor as she passed, skirting open doorways and keeping a tight grip on her wand. She felt slightly foolish when she reached the portrait hole with no incident, but as Sarah Peasegood had always said, you weren't paranoid if they really were out to get you, and she was sure the Heir would love to find her alone in the dark.

"Happenstance," she said to the Fat Lady.

"That's right, dear," said the Fat Lady. "You have your wand out, I see -- very sensible of you. But next time I'd advise getting back a bit earlier." She swung open, letting Ginny into the warmth and safety of the common room.

\---------------------------------------------

After dinner Thursday, Ginny walked nervously out to the greenhouses. Regardless of what she was missing for this, she was eager to find out what Professor Sprout's extra sessions were like -- but she had no idea what to expect.

Warm light spilled from Greenhouse One, inviting her in from the cold. Students milled around the center courtyard, waiting for Professor Sprout. Ginny spotted Katie Bell, one of the Gryffindor chasers, as well as a few older students she vaguely recognized as sixth and seventh year Gryffindors. Neville Longbottom stood off to the side, chatting with an unfamiliar black-haired girl and a Hufflepuff boy from Ginny's year. Ginny made her way over to them.

"Hi, Ginny!" said Neville, looking up and flushing. "Professor Sprout said you'd be here tonight but I forgot to look for you. Sorry."

"That's all right, I don't mind," said Ginny. She turned to the other boy and girl. "I'm Ginny Weasley."

"Queenie Greengrass," said the girl, her wide smile revealing large, square teeth. "So you're the new Gryffindor? That's good -- we have three first years this year. Usually we're lucky to get two people. Logan here came two weeks already," -- she waved at the Hufflepuff boy -- "but Ruth is just starting, whenever she gets here."

"Ruth?" asked Ginny.

"Ruth Gelfand," said Queenie. "She ought to be in your Potions class -- skinny, with curly hair?"

"Oh, her?" said Ginny. "Yeah, I know her." Daphne's thin-faced friend liked Herbology? She hoped they wouldn't have to work together.

Just then Professor Sprout bustled into the greenhouse, escorting Ruth and a gaggle of sixth and seventh years. Ruth shrugged out from under Sprout's arm and edged over to Ginny's group while Sprout gathered the older students and led them to her desk.

"Hi, Queenie," said Ruth. "Thanks for telling me about the shortcut."

Queenie smiled widely. "No worries. I would have waited to point out the false tiles in the corridor, but I had to fetch Neville. We can't have him getting lost with the Heir still around."

Neville flushed and Ginny frowned. Was Queenie a Slytherin too? She was being nice to Neville, but she'd also insulted him -- then again, if even half of what Ron had told her was true, Neville _was_ a bit hopeless. Ginny peered at the other girl's open robes, looking for the Slytherin crest.

"Hello everyone!" said Professor Sprout, standing at the front of the courtyard and beaming. "Let's all welcome two new students to Evening Herbology -- Ruth Gelfand of Slytherin and Ginevra Weasley of Gryffindor. Please make them feel at home."

The students nodded and murmured agreement. Queenie nudged Ruth and Ginny and grinned. "See? We're all friends here. Except for some of the NEWT students, but they have to come. The rest of us are here by choice."

Ginny nodded despite herself.

Sprout handed instruction parchments to the NEWT students and directed them to Greenhouse Three. As they filed out, she began sorting through the other students, placing them in pairs or small groups and assigning various tasks.

"Let me see, let me see," she mumbled, looking at Ginny's group. "Queenie, please go to Greenhouse Two and pluck the fruit from the Wheezing Puffberry -- only take every other one on a stem -- and place them in the glass jar on my desk. Neville, please comb the Siren's Hair -- it's in the tank in the back corner -- and make sure it has enough fish."

She smiled at the three first years. "Miss Gelfand, Miss Weasley, let me explain how this works. We all do various jobs around the greenhouses, and then meet up afterward. Generally I like to have one of the older students show new people around for a few evenings, before I think you're ready to work on your own. So would you rather work with Neville or Queenie tonight? Logan, you choose too," she added.

Ginny and Ruth glanced uneasily at each other. "I'll work with Neville," said Ginny hastily.

"Fine. I'll stay with Queenie," answered Ruth.

"Good, good!" said Sprout. "Logan?"

Logan looked from Ginny to Ruth, rubbing his neck. "I think I'll go with Queenie tonight," he said.

"There we are, then," said Sprout. "Supplies are in the usual place and I'll be in Greenhouse Three if you need me. Please remember to light your wands and walk in pairs if you leave the building; we don't need any unfortunate incidents."

Ginny flinched. Beside her Neville twitched, Logan looked worried, and Ruth shivered.

Queenie frowned and patted Ruth on the shoulder. "Come on, you two," she said. "Logan, get three lined baskets. Ruth, three pairs of gloves. Professor, are we allowed to use a soothing potion on the Puffberry?"

"Certainly, dear, but only a little -- we don't want it diluting the sap," said Sprout, and she bustled out the door. Logan and the Slytherins banged around Sprout's desk and the supply cabinets for a minute before following Sprout out into the darkness. Neville seemed to be waiting for them to leave.

"So how do we comb Siren's Hair?" asked Ginny as they walked toward Sprout's desk.

"We have combs with a No-Stick Charm, so they won't break the fronds," said Neville, pulling two wide-toothed combs out of a flowerpot and handing them to Ginny. "Erm. You'll probably get wet so you ought to roll up your sleeves. Do you want gloves? Professor Sprout has some with waterproofing charms and some Muggle ones, but they make your hands itch."

Ginny shrugged. "I'll take the rubber gloves; waterproofing charms make my fingers fall asleep." She fished a pair from a cardboard box and pulled them on. They were much smaller than the yellow monstrosities that Sarah Peasegood's mother had kept around her house; these were a semi-transparent white, stretchy, and nearly skintight.

"Are you sure these are waterproof?" she asked, staring at the strange material.

"More or less. Come on." Neville led Ginny to the tanks and pointed out some of the more interesting aqueous plants. Ginny nodded politely, and privately wondered how plants with such varied and useful magical properties could all look like slimy, dirty green weeds. The emperor's crown was the only really interesting one, consisting of a maroon, jelly-like blob with one long, slender stem that stretched to the surface of the tank, capped by a dense cluster of purple and gold flowers on a ring of spiky leaves. It was pretty if you ignored the blobby bit underwater.

Then they reached the Siren's Hair, and Ginny decided there were two interesting water plants; the Siren's Hair was anything but ugly. Long, delicate fronds with tiny, feathery leaves bent and swayed in the slow-moving currents of the tank. As they moved, the changing angles of light struck iridescent shimmers from their pale, silvery stems and gold-green leaves.

"It's gorgeous," murmured Ginny, and then blinked as her breath caused ripples to splash her nose. When had she bent so close to the water?

"You have to be careful about watching too closely or it tries to pull you in," said Neville as Ginny straightened. "It uses a low-level glamour -- Professor Sprout says it's very useful in illusion, beauty, and love potions."

"I can see that." Ginny took a comb and copied Neville as he carefully detangled the shimmering fronds, picking out bits of dirt, wood, and other plants that had caught in the leaves. Suddenly something pricked her finger. "Ouch!" She pulled off her glove and glared at her bleeding hand.

"Are you all right, Ginny?" asked Neville.

"Something stuck me," said Ginny. She peered at her glove. "Here. It was... a fishbone?"

Neville nodded. "That's probably from its last meal. Siren's Hair is a messy eater -- that's why we have to comb it."

"It's carnivorous?" Ginny blinked. That beautiful plant ate fish? Wait, Sprout had mentioned fish to Neville...

"Yes, we feed it minnows." Neville turned back to his work, satisfied that nothing was wrong.

"Oh."

Ginny combed more carefully, searching for more of the tiny, semi-translucent bones. Now that she knew what to look for, they seemed to be everywhere despite the camouflage of silver stems and waving leaves.

"Er, Neville? Do Muggles ever get caught by Siren's Hair?" she asked, trying to take her mind off of murdered fish.

Neville scratched his head. "I don't think so. They tend to block magic out, so they probably think it's just a pretty weed." He sighed. "You have no idea how happy I was that I almost fell into the tank the first time I saw Siren's Hair. Maybe I'm almost a Squib, but not quite."

Ginny stopped combing and looked up at him. "But you're at Hogwarts -- of course you're not a Squib."

"Yes, but I never do anything right," said Neville miserably. "People try to be nice but I can tell. And what if the Heir decides to go after Squibs as well as Muggle-born students? What if he comes for me? Everyone thinks Filch is a Squib and look what happened to Mrs. Norris!"

"He _won't_ come after you. The professors will catch him, and anyhow Mrs. Norris will be fine when Sprout finishes growing the Mandrakes for the Restorative Draught," said Ginny, trying hard not to think about the Heir planning his next attack. What was Neville worried about? She was the one in danger!

"I hope you're right," said Neville, looking glum.

Ginny frowned and returned to her combing. After another twenty minutes they had finished the whole patch and Neville reached under the tank for a covered bucket.

"Do you want to feed it?" Neville held the bucket out toward Ginny.

Ginny took it awkwardly and rested it on the edge of the tank. "What do I do?"

"There's a net in the bucket. Catch a fish, hold it in your hand, and let it go in a clump of the Siren's Hair," said Neville. "It will do the rest -- just pull your hand out quickly."

Ginny chased the minnows around the bucket for nearly a minute before she managed to trap one in the tiny net. It thrashed in her hand, feeling simultaneously rough and slimy. Ginny grimaced, stuck her hand into the gold-and-silver fronds, and released the minnow. Neville turned away, looking across the greenhouse at the students watering the herbs.

Almost before Ginny pulled back her hand, the gently waving fronds brushed against the minnow, twitched, and rolled down to their roots like released springs, trapping the helpless fish in a cocoon of leaves. Without the screen of leaves, Ginny could see the small pocket of tough root-like material from which the fronds sprouted and into which they now deposited the minnow. The pocket snapped shut as the fronds unrolled, and within seconds there was no sign of either the pocket or the doomed minnow; the shimmering fronds waved innocently in the water, once again dancing in the diffracted light.

"That's creepy," said Ginny, staring at the Siren's Hair. "That's _really_ creepy. It's so pretty -- why is it like that?"

Neville shrugged. "It just is, I suppose." He stuck his hands into the water, carefully parting the fronds and studying the unfilled digestive pockets. "Give it three or four more minnows, and then we'll make sure the fronds aren't caught. If the pockets don't close, sometimes the minnows escape -- that's not good for the tanks."

"Fine." Ginny fed the Siren's Hair another four minnows, watching in guilty fascination as the plant snapped up the helpless fish. As she put the bucket behind the tank, Neville gently tugged a few stray leaves out from the full digestive pockets and let them wave freely. Ginny wondered at his resigned expression, but he quickly finished and walked toward Sprout's desk, carrying the combs in his wet gloves.

"Now what?" she asked, as she stripped off her gloves and followed him.

"We should tell Professor Sprout we've finished. Then you can go back to the tower, help someone else, or wait 'til the NEWT students finish their lesson. Professor Sprout usually has the house elves bring biscuits and drinks for everyone," said Neville.

"That's awfully nice of her."

"Yes. Professor Sprout is great." Neville paused. "I have to tell her we're finished. Would... would you come with me?"

Ginny nodded. "Yeah." She pulled her wand from her bag, while Neville took his from his pocket.

" _Lumos_ ," they whispered at the door, and hurried across the darkened lawn to Greenhouse Three. Professor Sprout was advising the NEWT students as they did something complicated with the roots of a spiky, green-and-purple plant. She looked up as the door latched.

"You've finished?" she asked, walking over to Neville and Ginny. "Lovely! Did it eat well, Neville?"

"Five minnows," said Neville.

"Good, good. Let me see..." Professor Sprout hummed absently, tapping her fingers against her cheek. "Ah. You two can deadhead the rosebushes in Greenhouse Two. Watch out for the whip stems on the Tentacula Rose. Run along!" She made little shooing motions, then turned back to the NEWT students.

Deadheading roses was easy work -- Ginny had years of practice from Mum's garden and Neville showed surprising coordination -- and she and Neville talked while they worked. She learned that his grandmother kept vast banks of flowers, all mashed together with no concern for proper growing conditions, and charmed them into blooming year-round. Neville had spent his summer holidays transplanting flowers into suitable locations so they wouldn't need fertilizing charms and potions so often. He wasn't able to do anything about his grandmother's lack of color sense, however. In return, Ginny told him about helping Mum manage a vegetable garden, and how to handle gnome infestations. (Well, how to handle them in theory. Dad was too soft to set proper gnome-wards.)

After half an hour, Professor Sprout called them back to Greenhouse One where the house elves had set up plates of biscuits, a small chocolate cake, and several pitchers of pumpkin juice. Ginny took her biscuits off to the side and watched Neville chat with Queenie, Ruth, and Logan. She couldn't quite bring herself to talk pleasantly with Ruth, and dragging Neville or Logan away from her would be awfully rude. So she sipped her pumpkin juice in silence.

Finally Neville excused himself and walked over to Ginny. "Thanks for waiting," he said. "I don't want to go back to the tower alone."

"I don't either," said Ginny, putting her plate and glass on the table. "I really want them to catch the Heir."

They parted inside the common room, Neville staying downstairs to struggle with his Potions reading and Ginny slipping upstairs to talk with Tom. She closed her bed curtains, lit her wand, and pulled the diary from her bag.

"Dear Tom, the Herbology session was interesting," she wrote. "Neville Longbottom was there, along with Logan Noble-Marx from Hufflepuff and Ruth Gelfand from Slytherin -- Daphne's friend. And there was a Slytherin girl from Harry's year, Queenie Greengrass; she seemed nice, but then again, she was friendly with Ruth. But maybe she doesn't know what Daphne and Ruth are really like?

"Anyhow, Neville and I combed and fed the Siren's Hair -- it's a water plant that uses a glamour to attract fish, which it eats. It's kind of creepy, because you don't expect something so pretty to be vicious like that. Afterwards we deadheaded roses and had biscuits and pumpkin juice with the other students. Professor Sprout is awfully nice about the whole thing, and I think I'll like doing this even if I didn't get to talk to Neville afterwards -- I didn't want to drag him away from Ruth and Queenie even if Ruth is awful. Besides, that would give a bad impression, and I can't let Ruth get one up on me.

"What do you think, Tom?"

_"I think you sound like you had a good evening, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom. _"I haven't seen you write quite that quickly when you're not angry in several weeks. My compliments to Professor Sprout!"_

Ginny blushed. "Well, I like Herbology!"

_"And have I ever tried to dissuade you from your enthusiasm? I'm simply happy that you're happy. I've been worried about you lately, what with the Heir on the loose and the irritations of your brothers. It's comforting to see you enjoying something."_

"Thanks, Tom," wrote Ginny. "But did you have to remind me of the Heir? Neville did too, and it spoiled our conversation. He thinks the Heir will go after him because he doesn't have much magic -- he's always saying he's almost a Squib -- but really, he's very good at Herbology and I think he'd do better at everything else if he didn't expect not to. Ron says he's hopeless in Potions, but then, Snape could put anyone off." She grimaced. "Anyhow, he's worried about the Heir, when really I'm the only one who ought to be afraid! And I couldn't tell him. I hate this -- I wish they'd find out who's behind it all and expel him!"

_"Ginevra, I know this is hard for you, but you're bearing up remarkably well -- you Gryffindors certainly do know how to deal with difficult situations, I must say. In any case, I'm certain the Headmaster will identify the Heir soon enough, and you will be safe from Petrification. Now, you were up late last night for Astronomy, and tomorrow's Transfiguration lesson will be difficult after your last one. I suggest you get some sleep."_

"Oh, all right," scribbled Ginny, sighing. "I realize you're usually right, and you know all about dealing with Hogwarts, but you're not my mother, you know! Good night, Tom."

_"Good night, dear daughter."_

"Tom!"

Silent laughter seeped from the page. _"I couldn't resist. I'm sorry, Ginevra. But please rest. Remember, you'll need your strength for the spell tomorrow."_

Oh! She'd almost forgotten that tomorrow she would help Tom start getting free of the diary. "Of course! Good night, Tom, for real this time."

_"Good night, Ginevra."_

Ginny shut the diary and slipped it under her pillow as usual. While she prepared for bed, she wondered what sort of spell could free a memory from an enchanted diary -- perhaps something like a Pensieve? They could create realistic feelings and maybe that could be reversed. In any case, after tomorrow evening, maybe she and Tom could talk for real instead of having to wait for her hand to catch up with her thoughts.

Tom would listen and help her with her schoolwork. He could come with her and see things as they happened instead of waiting for secondhand reports. Tom could keep her safe from the Heir.

Ginny slept with a smile on her face, anticipating her first sight of her protector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should note that I am aware that Ginny's Herbology and Potions lessons described in this story are too advanced to properly fit the tiny glimpses Rowling gives of the first year curriculum. I'm not going to change them, though -- I had far too much fun playing around with magic that's a bit more grounded in physical reality than just words and wands.


	7. Twice Is Coincidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Seventh: In which Ginny performs an incantation to help free Tom from the diary, the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game is a spectacular disaster, and Colin takes an exasperated suggestion far too seriously. Is _anyone_ safe from the Heir?

It was easy enough for Ginny to slip away unnoticed Friday evening; everyone who might have cared was busy. Apple was off with Daphne, probably plotting something; and her brothers, along with the rest of the Gryffindor team and various hangers-on, were off in a corner talking about tomorrow's Quidditch match. So Ginny took the diary and set off for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

She found one of Filch's storage closets on the way and grabbed a tin of polish and some rags -- it was lucky the man was a Squib and couldn't use magic, as she hadn't mastered any cleaning spells yet.

Sir Vladislav saluted as she walked past Myrtle's bathroom.

"Hi," said Ginny, smiling. "I'm not sure where to start. Does anything need work in particular?"

Sir Vladislav removed his white mantle, folded it so the black cross showed in the middle, and handed it to Ginny. Then he carefully bent and rearranged himself so he was sitting on his pedestal with his legs dangling nearly to the floor. He pointed at his shoulders, which were dull and scratched; the elbows of his leather arm-guards, which were quite dusty; and his feet and greaves. He then held out a gauntlet and motioned first to the rags, then to the ornamentation on his helmet.

Ginny puzzled over this for a moment. "Do you want to polish your helmet yourself?" Sir Vladislav nodded. "Okay. I'll start on your feet."

To her surprise, Sir Vladislav lifted his helmet off entirely. Ginny blinked at the empty space above his shoulder-plates, disconcerted, but dipped a rag in the polish tin and handed it to Sir Vladislav. After all, a headless suit of enchanted armor wasn't any stranger than a nearly headless ghost.

They worked in companionable silence for several minutes, until Ginny had finished cleaning his greaves. "You'll have to stay still while I do your arms," she said, and Sir Vladislav nodded.

"It must get lonely for you, standing around all the time," she said as she started dusting his shoulders, trying not to knock the grains into the hollow where his helmet normally rested. "I don't suppose anyone stops to talk to you -- I know I never thought you or the other suits of armor might be enchanted. Do you talk to each other, or the ghosts and paintings?"

Sir Vladislav picked up his helmet. Holding it before his mail shirt, he nodded it yes and then shook it side to side as if saying no.

"Yes and no... So you do talk, but not much," continued Ginny, now moving on to polish the gauntlets. "Or only to each other, not the paintings -- there aren't any frames here for them to visit, are there. You can put your helmet on now; I'm done with your shoulders. Anyhow, I thought I might stop by sometimes. It isn't as if I have many other friends. Maybe we could figure out a better way to talk. Do you know how to write?"

Sir Vladislav once again nodded yes and shook his head no. It was much less disconcerting now that his helmet was back on his shoulders.

Ginny bit her lip. "You can write, but not in English?"

Sir Vladislav nodded.

"Well, that's not too big a problem," she decided. "You obviously understand English, and if you can spell things more or less how they sound, I can probably figure out what you're trying to say. Anyhow, I'm done now." She swiped a rag across his left gauntlet one last time, and nodded at a job well done.

Sir Vladislav saluted her again and stood creakily, leaning on Ginny's offered shoulder. She handed up his mantle, waved goodbye, and crossed the corridor to Myrtle's bathroom.

The bathroom was as dingy and depressing as ever. The floor was damp, and the puddles reflected the dull light given off by a few candles burning fitfully in their holders. A row of chipped sinks lined one wall, under a cracked and spotted mirror; along the other side of the room the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched, and one dangled half-off its hinges.

"Myrtle?" called Ginny. "Hello?"

The pale shape of a plain girl with lank hair and glasses floated from the end stall. "Oh, what do _you_ want?" she said, a wailing note underlying her irritation. "Have you come to pick on me just like everyone else?"

"Er, no. I just wanted to ask if I could borrow this room for an hour," said Ginny. "But I don't want to bother you if you're busy."

Myrtle sighed heavily. "I'm never busy. Nobody talks to me. Nobody likes me. Not even you," she added. "You yelled at me in the third floor bathroom last month -- I remember you."

"Sorry," said Ginny, fighting her urge to smack the ghost; it wouldn't do any good, and certainly wouldn't get Myrtle's cooperation. "I don't expect people to pop up through the toilet while I'm sitting on it." Myrtle folded her arms with a wounded air, as if she didn't see anything wrong with her actions.

"Anyhow," continued Ginny, stamping down her irritation, "I thought that since Filch is horrible and doesn't take proper care of your bathroom, I might be able to get some privacy here. If you let me use it for an hour, I promise I'll come back and talk to you sometimes."

Myrtle sniffed. "That's what they all say. 'Myrtle, go away and I'll come say thank you,' 'Myrtle, distract Peeves and we'll visit you tomorrow,' Myrtle this and Myrtle that, and do they ever keep their promises? No!"

"But I will! You can ask Sir Vladislav, the armor across the hall -- I promised I'd come polish him and I did. So you know I'll really come back."

Myrtle eyed Ginny suspiciously. "I suppose it's all right. It isn't as if I was happy here anyway."

Ginny stifled a smile as Myrtle drifted off towards her toilet. "Thank you!" she called as the ghost dove into the pipes with a splash, and then cast around for a place to sit. She settled on the slightly mildewed windowsill; it was more decent than a toilet and much less damp than the floor.

"Dear Tom," she wrote in the diary, "I'm alone in Myrtle's bathroom and she won't be back for an hour. What do I have to do for the spell to help you?"

 _"It's fairly simple in execution,"_ wrote Tom, _"though the theory is complicated. It should establish a connection between us that will allow me to use your life and magic to gradually manifest a new body. I know that sounds dangerous, but it will only let me draw the barest trickle of energy at a time, so the worst possible side-effect is that you may feel somewhat tired now and again. Are you still willing to perform this ritual?"_

Ginny flicked her quill against her chin, considering. It sounded dark, a spell to drain people's magic... but it was probably meant to heal people who were close to dying. So the spell itself shouldn't be a problem. And she definitely wanted to help Tom get out of the diary.

"Yes, I want to help you," she wrote.

 _"Thank you, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom. _"This is what you have to do: first, lay the diary flat on some surface and press the pages open. Second, prick your finger and let a few drops of blood fall on the pages -- three should be enough. Third, recite a brief spell._

 _"This is longer than the incantations you've learned so far, because this is ritual magic rather than a charm or hex. Also, it's in German. I'm sorry I didn't translate it, but my German is shaky and I'm not sure I could do it properly."_ An intangible shrug seeped from the pages.

_"These are the words:_

_'Blut zum Blut, Leben zum Leben, Seele zur Seele,_  
Ohne Kampf komm' ich zu Euch.  
Herz zum Herz, Luft zur Luft, Geist zum Geist,  
Verwenden Sie mich; ich gehöre Euch.' 

_"The pronunciation is mostly phonetic,"_ continued Tom, _"if you say the letter V as F and W as V, and make sure you don't leave out any vowels -- not even the Es at the ends of words. But in ritual magic the actions and intent are more important than strict pronunciation, so don't worry about saying anything too badly. Just don't leave any words out."_

The strange words remained on the page even as the rest of Tom's instructions sank back into the depths of the diary to wherever he kept his stores of ink. Ginny grabbed a scrap of parchment and copied them down.

"Okay, Tom, I'm ready," she wrote, and pressed the diary flat on the windowsill, using her ink bottle and bag to weight it open. She held her left hand in front of her face, gritted her teeth, and stabbed her index finger with her quill.

The pain drew a brief hiss of breath as she set down the quill. Ginny held her finger just over the blank pages of the diary, and squeezed three drops of ink-stained blood onto the thin paper. The blood welled slowly and she had to readjust her grip partway through.

As the third drop fell, she felt a strange, expectant tension take hold of her, and the diary began to glow softly. As if in a dream, she picked up the parchment scrap and read the words, tongue gliding through the unfamiliar syllables.

"Blut zum Blut, Leben zum Leben, Seele zur Seele,  
Ohne Kampf komm' ich zu Euch.  
Herz zum Herz, Luft zur Luft, Geist zum Geist,  
Verwenden Sie mich; ich gehöre Euch."

The diary flashed a brilliant white, and Ginny's vision blurred into darkness.

An indeterminate time later, she blinked her eyes clear to find her left hand pressed flat against the pages, finger completely healed. Quickly she inked her quill and wrote, "Tom, did it work?"

There was a brief pause, and, before words began to appear, she thought she heard someone drawing breath. _"Yes, Ginevra, I think it worked. We won't see any immediate results, but I think I should soon be able to appear to you, if not to anyone else."_

When he smiled, then, Ginny really did think she saw it in the corner of her eye, instead of only sensing that he would smile in such a pause.

 _"Now, I believe I promised you some extracurricular instruction?"_ continued Tom.

Ginny grinned. "Yeah. Teach me something, Professor Riddle."

 _"Hmm. Considering your troubles with Daphne, it would be nicely ironic if you used this particular hex against her,"_ wrote Tom. _"Its name is Serpensortia."_

\---------------------------------------------

Saturday didn't so much dawn as ooze its way into morning, the air thick and muggy with a threat of thunder in the distance. The students echoed the weather, their mood tense and anticipatory as they hurried to the Quidditch pitch for the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. By now everyone knew that Draco Malfoy's father had bought Nimbus 2001 brooms for the entire Slytherin team, while Harry Potter was the only one on the Gryffindor team who had a Nimbus 2000, let alone the newest model. Everyone also knew that Harry Potter had hexed Mrs. Norris on Halloween, that Draco Malfoy had been delighted and claimed the Heir would kill the "Mudbloods," and that the two boys hated each other. There wasn't a person under eighteen in the school who didn't want to see this match.

There was also a widespread desire to see the Slytherins' new brooms in action, but this was mostly suppressed under mutters of, "Hope they all lose their braking charms halfway through -- serve them right, the cheating bastards," or some such, which the Gryffindor prefects pretended not to notice.

Ginny found herself at the end of a row of first years, squeezed between Colin and the edge of the Gryffindor box. Colin tried to start a conversation, but soon gave up and nattered on at Apple -- who was squashed against his other side -- between pauses to snap pictures of the pitch and the murmuring crowd. Ginny picked at the splintery rail on the box wall, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, a great roar of noise pulled her attention to the pitch; the two teams were walking to the center. There was something smug about the Slytherins' posture, while the Gryffindor team exuded defiance.

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "Go Gryffindor!" she yelled, surprised by how much she meant it. Crush them into mud, she added to herself. She needed something to hold over Daphne on Monday, something to get her mad enough to fight so she could cast hexes in self-defense.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the teams shot into the air.

The Chasers and Beaters spread into formations, passing the Quaffle back and forth while the Keepers streaked for the hoops at either end of the pitch. Harry flew high above the other players, looking for the Golden Snitch. Draco Malfoy flew underneath him, yelling something that distracted Harry enough that a Bludger nearly caught him in the head before he swerved out of the way.

Ginny gasped and clutched the box rail. Colin snapped a photograph.

George zoomed past Harry and knocked the Bludger off toward a Slytherin Chaser who was approaching the Gryffindor hoops. But before it had traveled even half the distance, the Bludger swooped around and flew back at Harry.

Harry dropped straight down ten feet, letting the Bludger whoosh over his head and into George's reach. George beat the leather-wrapped ball at Draco, who was hovering nearby and obviously taunting the Gryffindors.

Ginny cheered as the Bludger crashed toward his head.

But instead of smashing into Draco, the Bludger again reversed itself and flew toward Harry, picking up speed as it traveled. Harry swerved and headed for the opposite end of the pitch. The Bludger, which ought to have switched targets to any of the Chasers Harry passed in his flight, chased single-mindedly after him.

"Are Bludgers supposed to act like that?" asked Colin.

"No," said Apple, frowning. "They're not supposed to discriminate amongst the players. It's possible someone hexed this one."

The Slytherins! Ginny seethed. They weren't happy just having better brooms as a bribe, no, they had to hex a Bludger to take Harry out of the game. Ooh! "Toad-lickers," she muttered under her breath, as scattered drops of rain began to splash down from the leaden sky.

By now the twins had realized something was up and were flying guard over Harry, so Ginny turned away to watch the rest of the game -- she did like Quidditch, after all, even if she wasn't obsessed with it, and she always enjoyed family pick-up matches. The Gryffindor Chasers -- who'd seemed nice the few times she'd met them hanging about the twins -- were trying hard, but the Slytherins' brooms were just too fast for them to cope with, especially since the two Slytherin Beaters were walloping them unopposed.

Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain, waved at Madam Hooch. She blew her whistle sharply, the spelled sound slicing through the noise of the crowd and the rush of wind in players' ears. The teams settled to the ground and gathered into opposing huddles.

"What's going on?" asked Colin.

"Gryffindor called for time out," Ginny told him, watching as the hexed Bludger hovered just outside the range of the twins' bats. "Probably because of that Bludger."

"Oh," said Colin. "I like this game -- it's tons better than football! D'you think I'll ever be good enough to play?"

"Maybe," said Ginny doubtfully, remembering their first flying lesson. She looked him over. "You might make a Keeper; you're certainly fast enough to catch things with that camera."

"Cool!" said Colin, and wiped rain from the lens before snapping a picture of the huddled Gryffindor team.

Madam Hooch consulted briefly with Oliver Wood, then blew her whistle again. The players kicked off, and Harry spiraled up into the sky, far above the general level of play, with the hexed Bludger howling after him.

This time nobody followed.

Harry spun and wove through the rain and lowering wisps of cloud, flashing in and out of Ginny's sight. At several points she was afraid he was going to fall as he looped upside down, but after a minute her grip on the box rail loosened and she almost felt as if she were flying with him, weightless and free.

Harry was a genius in the air.

She'd have to see if she could pull off some of those corkscrew turns this summer -- if Charlie's old Cleansweep was up to them. Ginny was pretty sure it hadn't been designed with moves like this in mind. She wasn't sure even the Nimbus 2000 was meant to handle some of the dives Harry was forcing it through.

"Hey, I think we scored!" said Colin in her ear.

"Shut up!" hissed Ginny, not pulling her eyes from Harry's mad obstacle course through the sky. "Of course we did, now that my brothers are playing properly."

"Oh," said Colin, sounding a bit dampened. "I didn't realize how important Beaters could-- oh, look! It almost got him!"

Ginny, who already had her eyes fixed on Harry, didn't even hear. She almost thought she felt the Bludger graze her hair, setting her scalp tingling, just as it had nearly bashed in Harry's head. Not even the splintery pain of the rail against her palm could distract her.

Harry flipped over and twirled madly through the air, flying back to the near end of the pitch as he wove away from the Bludger. Suddenly Draco Malfoy rose toward him, waving his arm and shouting.

Harry hesitated, staring at Draco. Ginny dared to follow his glance, and spotted what he had seen: the Golden Snitch was hovering just over and behind Draco's left ear! Her breath whooshed out in a sharp hiss.

"Don't let him see, don't let him see," she muttered, leaning forward and clenching the box rail even more tightly.

And then, while she was still fixed on the blurry dot of gold, a huge roar rose from the stands. "It hit him!" yelled Colin, as his camera clicked and whirred. "Did you see that? This is such a neat game!"

"Colin, shut it," snapped Apple, her voice sounding impossibly distant.

Ginny sat utterly still, watching the sky with her heart in her throat. The hexed Bludger wheeled around to make another pass at Harry, who was hanging half off his broom, only his left hand and knee keeping him in the air. His right arm dangled limply as he hauled himself upright.

The Bludger passed so close to his head that Ginny thought at first he must be dead -- but no, Harry was back on his broom! And he was diving toward Draco!

Draco swerved sideways, avoiding Harry's mad rush. Harry took his left hand off his broom, holding on only with his legs as he hurtled earthward, and snapped his hand around the Snitch.

"He got it!" shrieked Ginny, jumping up and turning to beam at Colin. "He got the Snitch! We won!"

"He's falling!" Colin shouted into her ear, trying to be heard over the deafening cheers and screams rising from the rest of the Gryffindors.

Ginny whirled around just as Harry crashed into the ground, rolling over onto his limp right arm. The hexed Bludger zoomed toward him, suddenly presented with an unobstructed shot. "Oh God, it's going to kill him!" said Ginny, grabbing Colin's arm.

"No, look," he said, pointing with his free hand. "Your brothers--"

"Oh," said Ginny, relaxing a little as the twins flew over Harry and wrestled the Bludger to the ground. "Er, sorry." She let go of Colin's arm and dashed for the side stairs down to the pitch, followed by the other first years and the rest of the Gryffindors.

They joined the Quidditch team standing around Harry's muddy and mangled body, wondering if they should move him. Ginny was about to step forward and try shaking his shoulder, when Lockhart shoved into the ring, smiling hard enough to show all his teeth.

As he bent down, Harry's eyes drifted open. "Oh, no, not you," he moaned. Apple snickered while several girls made disapproving noises behind Ginny.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly as he waved his hands at the students. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."

" _No!_ " said Harry forcefully. "I'll keep it like this, thanks..."

Ginny nodded; really, who knew what Lockhart might do if he tried to help? Suddenly, just as Harry started to sit up, Colin stuck his camera over her shoulder and snapped a picture.

"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," said Harry, looking even more disgusted.

Ginny turned and snatched the camera from Colin's hands. "How dare you!" she whispered fiercely. "He's hurt! You shouldn't take advantage."

Colin flinched, but refused to look ashamed.

"Give him the camera, Ginny," said Apple, frowning at them. "You can't take things away simply because you don't like what people are doing with them. And Colin, you've taken enough pictures already. Leave off; it's rude."

Ginny glared at Apple, but shoved the camera back at Colin. "Fine. Toad-licker." She turned back to Harry just as Lockhart began rolling up the sleeves of his jade-green robe and drawing his wand with an overdone flourish.

"No -- don't --" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart blithely twirled his wand and cast a muddled-sounding charm at Harry's broken arm. The arm began to soften at the shoulder and flop uselessly; within a few seconds, the strange flexibility spread down all the way through Harry's fingers. Gasps rose from the circle of students -- instead of rejoining the broken bones, Lockhart had removed them entirely, and all the unbroken ones as well.

"Wow!" said Colin as he madly snapped photographs, his face glowing with excitement. "I didn't know you could do that!"

Ginny ground her teeth, but Apple moved between her and Colin and folded her arms. "Fine, let him be a scum-sucking idiot," hissed Ginny, glaring back at the other girl. "Stuck-up, bossy cow."

"Ah," said Lockhart then with a hint of uncertainty, looking at Harry's boneless arm. "Yes. Well, that can happen sometimes." He brightened and put on a loud, cheerful voice. "But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing -- ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? -- and Madam Pomfrey will be able to, er, tidy you up a bit."

Ron and Hermione shoved forward and hoisted Harry to his feet. They hurried him off toward the castle, one under each of his shoulders, with the Gryffindor Quidditch team acting as a worried escort. The rest of the House trailed after until Madam Pomfrey slammed the infirmary doors in their faces, muttering about idiot children and incompetent teachers.

"And no, you may not visit him later!" Her parting words echoed through the corridor until the renewed muttering of the Gryffindors drowned them out.

"But _why_ can't we visit him?" asked Colin as he followed Apple and Ginny away from the hospital wing. "I just want to show him the pictures I took of the match. I know I have some of him catching the Snitch!"

Ginny shot him a scathing look. "He's lost all the bones in his arm, Colin. You can grow them back with magic, but it hurts and it makes you awfully tired. He won't want any visitors -- especially not _you_."

"What's wrong with me?" said Colin, looking wounded.

"Oh, _I_ don't know... but Harry doesn't like you. You take pictures of him even when he asks you not to. And you're always following him. And you're an annoying little twit." Colin's hands fidgeted on his camera, and Ginny felt a twinge of shame. Maybe that had been a bit much.

"There's no call for that, Ginny," snapped Apple, as she turned down the side corridor that led to the library. "But Colin, perhaps you ought to apologize for today's photographs. Explain that you didn't mean any harm -- you were just a trifle overexcited -- and he'll probably forgive you," she said over her shoulder as she walked off.

"Oh," said Colin, a bit subdued, and turned back to Ginny. "Er, so I explain and apologize. What's a good apology for Harry Potter?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, irritated anew. "Why don't you sneak in tonight with some food, show him just how much you admire him. You could bring your camera, too -- take some pictures of him laid up in hospital. I bet he'd really like that."

"Really?" asked Colin. "You think that'd work?"

"Oh, _absolutely_ ," said Ginny. "Save something from dinner and take it to him after midnight. Now shoo; I have to meet Xanthe for a study session." She turned down the library corridor, careful not to walk too fast and catch up to Apple. What a crazy morning. A hexed Bludger, Harry's boneless arm, and now Colin and his stupid questions and the way he couldn't see why nobody liked him.

Oh, toad guts! She'd just sent Colin to bother Harry while he was laid up in hospital. Colin probably deserved to get yelled at, but Harry didn't deserve to be irritated. What was it about Colin that made her forget things like that when she wanted to get rid of him?

She hoped Tom could make some sense of this mess.

\---------------------------------------------

"Ginny!" cried Xanthe as she hurried into the library, one hand clamped on her bag to keep stray parchment sheets from exploding over the floor.

Madam Pince glared, and Xanthe shrugged apologetically before continuing in a softer voice as she dropped into a chair across the table from Ginny. "That was such an amazing match! The brooms! And that Bludger! And did you _see_ the way Harry Potter caught the Snitch with a broken arm? That's proper Quidditch, you know!"

Ginny allowed that it had been an exciting match. "But we ought to get some studying done," she said, and opened _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ to page 164.

"Oh, that can wait," said Xanthe, gesturing expansively. "This is more important. _I_ think," she continued, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, " _I_ think that the Heir hexed the Bludger. Think about it -- that thing with Mrs. Norris was set up to make Harry Potter look bad, you know, and now someone's trying to get him killed. I think the Heir knows whatever Harry Potter did last year with Quirrell, and how he stopped You-Know-Who, and wants him out of the way. And think what might happen then! Professor Dumbledore's a great wizard, but I don't think he pays much attention to what goes on in the castle."

"You don't think Harry's the one who attacked Mrs. Norris?" asked Ginny, latching onto the first point in the flood of Xanthe's words. "I've been saying that all along, but nobody believes me!"

Xanthe shrugged. "Well, he might have done it -- Ernie Macmillan's going around telling everyone Harry Potter's as bad as You-Know-Who -- but it seems a bit off to me. If _I'd_ done something like that, I wouldn't have stayed around to get caught, you know, and I'd have had a better excuse for missing the banquet. I mean, ghosts' Deathday parties?"

"They weren't lying about that," said Ginny sharply. "I didn't go to the banquet either -- I was tired -- and I overheard them as they left the tower."

"Oh, fine. I still think it's a mad idea, Deathday parties -- who wants to remember getting his neck hacked at with a blunt axe?" Xanthe quirked her face in a grin, and Ginny had to agree it was an odd sort of thing to commemorate.

"Anyway," continued Xanthe, "do you think I'm right that the Heir hexed the Bludger during the match?"

It was Ginny's turn to shrug. "Maybe. But if I could Petrify a cat without anyone seeing me, I don't think I'd curse someone in front of everybody. It seems..." she trailed off, groping for the right words. She was certain the Bludger was the Slytherin Quidditch team's fault, and while the Heir might well be in Slytherin and might have encouraged this attack, the idea that it had been his or her personal work had simply never occurred to her. "It doesn't match the other attack," she said, helpless to put that conviction into words.

"You're probably right," allowed Xanthe. "It wasn't nearly sneaky enough. But still -- wasn't it _amazing_ the way Harry Potter flew? And how he caught the Snitch? And did you see what that idiot Lockhart did to his arm! I didn't know you could do that, you know, de-bone an arm -- I bet if he could figure out what he did, he could sell the spell for tons of Galleons."

Ginny snickered. "What for? Turning people into human jellyfish?"

At this Xanthe spread her arms wide with drooping fingers, lolled her head sideways, and wobbled in her chair. "Heelp me, I haff no bones," she moaned in a terrible accent.

Ginny swatted her friend on the shoulder, giggling. "Stop it! We're not supposed to laugh in the library."

"Since when do you listen to Madam Pince? But I'll stop." Xanthe resumed her untidy sprawl, resting her elbows on her much-abused books. "It really might be useful if you wanted to transfigure something into a slug, you know -- or maybe if he could get the bones to reappear somewhere else, he could go into selling enchanted skeletons." She smirked at Ginny's inadequately stifled laugh, and then composed her face. "Right. What are we doing this week?"

"The fertilizers, silly." Ginny rolled her eyes. "I have no idea how you can understand Astronomy when you're always such a mess."

"Well I have no idea why you _can't_ understand Astronomy if you're so obsessive about keeping track of things," Xanthe shot back, and stuck out her tongue at Ginny. "Neat freak."

"Slob."

"And proud of it. Show me your parchment -- I know you've already finished. I promise not to copy if you explain it to me."

Ginny stuck one of Xanthe's broken quills in _Magical Herbs and Fungi_ to hold her place, and pulled her parchment roll from her bag. "The first thing is to decide which patterns you think are most important," she began, and Xanthe leaned over to peer at her charts.

A productive hour and a half later, the girls exited the library and headed back to their respective common rooms, Xanthe with a good half-foot start on the Herbology work and Ginny in a much better mood than after the match.

"Dear Tom," she began once she had drawn the curtains around her bed, "today was interesting. First we had the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. Draco Malfoy had his father buy the Slytherins new brooms, so Gryffindor was already in trouble, and then I think they hexed one of the Bludgers. It didn't act normally; instead it chased Harry all the time. It tried to bash his head in and it broke his arm!

"But he caught the Snitch anyway." Ginny grinned and re-inked her quill. "Then he crashed and Lockhart -- the idiot! -- took the bones out of his arm instead of fixing them. And Colin took pictures, even after Harry asked him not to." She frowned. "Colin was being really annoying, and I told him that the best way to apologize to Harry would be to sneak into the infirmary after midnight and take pictures of him in hospital.

"Tom, Colin's an idiot -- and he's such a twit \-- but was it mean of me to tell him that? He really likes Harry, and now Harry will just be even more upset with him. And I feel bad for bothering Harry when he's in hospital."

 _"I wouldn't worry too much, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom, and Ginny twitched as the faintest of whispers drifted into her ears, echoing the words on the page. _"I've encountered people like Colin before, and they often need a rude shock to realize how their actions affect others. You may have provided him with that._

_"Lockhart is, unfortunately, a professor, and thus beyond your reach, much though he may deserve humiliation. As for the Bludger, do you have any proof the Slytherin Quidditch team was behind its behavior?"_

"No," wrote Ginny. "Xanthe thought it was the Heir -- she said Mrs. Norris was set up to frame Harry, and now somebody's trying to kill him -- and the Heir was trying to get Harry out of the way. But I don't think so. Whoever Petrified Mrs. Norris was sneaky. This wasn't sneaky." She tapped the quill against the page. "It was actually really stupid -- now people know someone's out to get Harry, and maybe they'll feel sorry for him and stop saying he's the Heir.

"That's why I think it was the Slytherins. Nobody else had any reason to hex the Bludger, and Draco Malfoy is enough of an idiot to think no one would notice." Ginny grinned, a tad viciously. "It didn't do him any good -- even with a broken arm, Harry's a better Seeker."

In the corner of her eye, she saw Tom raise a misty eyebrow as he bent over the diary to read her handwriting. Ginny shook her head. Was she imagining that, the way she used to imagine Tom's expressions, or was this an effect of the spell to let him out of the book?

 _"In that case, congratulations to Harry,"_ wrote Tom, and again the faint whisper tickled Ginny's ear. It had to be the spell. _"Though I must say I'm a bit ashamed of my old house. I grant you I didn't like most of my housemates, but it's embarrassing to hear how far they've fallen. No Slytherin of MY day would have tried such an imbecilic plot."_

Ginny giggled. "I understand. I don't really like Susan and the boys, or Gwen and Jia-li, but it's embarrassing when they say Harry's the Heir of Slytherin. It makes me look stupid too."

 _"Yes, that's it, Ginevra. I am, after all, a Slytherin, and the behavior of my house reflects on me."_ Tom shook his head in mock sadness, the motion a faint, misty flash in the air beside Ginny. _"Not that I support cheating in Quidditch matches, but if they must do so, I wish they'd be more clever about it."_

Ginny tapped her quill on the page, thinking, and then wrote, "Tom, how soon is the spell supposed to start working? Because I think I'm starting to hear you when you write, and just now I think I saw you. Did you shake your head?"

Tom's eyebrow shot up again in surprise. _"Really? I didn't think it would have any noticeable effect for at least a week. This is marvelous!"_

"Really? Cool! But could you talk more quietly?" wrote Ginny. "It's distracting to hear you whispering while I'm trying to read what you write."

_"Hmm. I hadn't thought of that. In time, we should be able to talk without needing to write in the diary, but until then, I can try to suppress my voice. I'm not certain how to do that, since I never expected to be heard, but I'll do my best not to distract you, Ginevra."_

"Thanks, Tom! And now I ought to get ready for dinner."

 _"Be well, Ginevra,"_ wrote Tom, and the whisper was fainter this time, just at the edge of hearing. _"Until later."_

\---------------------------------------------

_The princess led the dragon through the castle, seeking one of the sorceress's spies, a creeping, cackling beast disguised as a serving boy. The dragon crept behind, sheltered within the hollow walls, its rumbling voice and rasping scales echoing through the stone grillwork covers of the vents that kept the air pure even in the deepest dungeons._

_The spy thought he had a mission this night, a chance to poison the princess's consort, but his message was false and the rightful heir lay in wait, dragon and dark man at her back._

_-He comes, my lady- the dark man whispered, his voice wreathing into her ears. -He comes, slinking and smiling he comes. Shall we strike?-_

_His voice wrapped around her, bearing her up and dancing through her veins, dancing with the promise of justice. -Yes- she said. -Oh, yes!-_

_And the dragon reared its great head and turned the force of its gaze upon the slinking spy. But a chance saved him; her voice had caught his ear and he raised his false eye of glass and iron, and its enchantment turned aside the strength of her vengeance._

_As his frozen figure crashed to the stones, a new noise echoed through the corridors._

_-They come, my lady- the dark man said. -The others come, to find their fallen, find their foe. Flee, my lady, flee-_

_-Hide and sleep- she told the dragon, and the dark man whispered with her; her voice his, his voice hers. -Sleep and wait for my call- As the great beast slipped between the walls, she turned and fled down the corridor, away from the stairs and the frozen spy and the approaching servants of the sorceress. She slipped into the darkness and shadow that were her birthright, until the day she could walk again unafraid in the sun, secure in her castle and heritage._

"Hide and sleep, hide and..." Ginny trailed off, blinking. On her feet, on a staircase... oh, _toad guts_. Not _again_.

She looked around, peering through the darkness. Right. She was climbing the stairs to the Gryffindor girls' dormitories, she'd obviously been sleepwalking, and she had no idea if she'd been out of the tower. In the middle of the night, with the Heir still looking for her.

And her feet hurt, even through her slippers. Her legs ached, and she could feel the hitch in her breath that said she'd been running up flights of stairs. Which meant she'd left the tower.

She had to talk to Tom.

As she pulled out the diary and her writing supplies, Ginny tried to piece together her latest muddled dream. There had been a vicious, scurrying creature, she thought, and the dragon had fought it. And then something was coming, and someone told her -- told the princess -- to run. So the princess sent the dragon away...

"She sent it to hide and sleep!" muttered Ginny triumphantly. "That's what I was saying." But what did it mean?

She inked her quill and opened the diary. "Dear Tom, tonight I sleepwalked again and I had another dream about the princess and her dragon. Some nasty thing attacked her, but the dragon fought it. Then somebody told her to leave because other people were coming, so she sent the dragon away and ran. And I guess I ran, because I woke up on the stairs and my legs hurt.

"Tom, the last time this happened, I saw the Heir. I think..." Ginny paused and bit her lip. "I think I saw him again, or some nasty creature he has helping him, and maybe the other people coming was really the Heir. But if I'm the princess, I can't figure out what the dragon is. And who told me to run?

"Tom, none of it makes any sense!"

 _"Hush, Ginevra, calm down."_ Tom's voice whispered along with his writing, and this time Ginny didn't mind the distraction -- it was good to hear a friend's voice. _"Let's look at what we know about your dreams. You're the princess, the castle is Hogwarts, and originally you were looking for a dragon, which seemed to symbolize your search for friends. Then you witnessed an attack by the Heir of Slytherin._

 _"At that point, the dragon fought something. Hmm."_ He paused, brow furrowing in thought. _"It seems to have changed into a symbol of protection -- well, protection and friendship are not unrelated. Perhaps the dragon now symbolizes your magic or the Gryffindor part of yourself -- fairy-tale princesses are not particularly known for their courage, but dragons are._

 _"I suspect you did encounter the Heir or one of his creatures, and you managed to escape once again. That was well done, Ginevra."_ Tom's proud smile, misty and indistinct though it was, warmed Ginny. _"As for who told you to run, that may have been yet another aspect of yourself -- dreams are notoriously resistant to normal logic, and a person may often play several roles at once while sleeping. I once had a dream in which I was myself, my father, and an omnipresent observer, all at the same time. Your dream may have been working along the same lines."_

Ginny nodded; that did make a sort of sense, and she certainly hadn't come up with any other explanation. "Mum always said I shouldn't spend so much time reading Muggle fairy-tales. Maybe she was right -- I don't like them much in these dreams."

 _"There isn't much you can do about the symbols your sleeping mind latches onto,"_ said Tom, _"no matter how irritating they may be. I wouldn't worry about that._

 _"What DOES worry me, Ginevra,"_ he continued, _"is that you've now encountered the Heir twice, both times while sleepwalking. If this is only a coincidence, it's a singularly unlucky one. But what if it's something more?"_

Ginny shook her head. "It can't be," she wrote. "I was sleepwalking before the Heir, so he can't be the one making me go out at night. And he was distracted the first time, Petrifying Mrs. Norris, and this time I didn't even see him, just some animal he had with him. So he can't have cast a spell on me." She refused to consider that possibility.

 _"True,"_ replied Tom. _"Thank you for reassuring me, Ginevra. And now, I suggest you get some sleep. You may be busy tomorrow, if the Heir was out tonight."_

"Oh, thanks, Tom," wrote Ginny, pulling a sour face. "I'm sure I'll sleep really well now that you've reminded me about the Heir attacking people."

 _"A thousand apologies, fair lady,"_ wrote Tom, though his whispered voice didn't sound particularly repentant.

"Git," muttered Ginny, flicking her quill at the page.

_"I'm hurt, Ginevra."_

Ginny blinked. "I didn't write that," she scribbled. "Did you hear me?"

There was a pause. _"You know, I believe I must have,"_ wrote Tom. _"Interesting."_

"That's great! Can you only hear me when the diary's open? Can you leave it so I can talk to you anywhere, or do I still have to carry it around, just not write in it anymore?"

Tom shrugged, his misty form wavering in the corner of Ginny's vision. _"Who knows? We'll have to experiment. But that can wait for tomorrow, Ginevra. Right now, you need to sleep."_

"Git," said Ginny again, but this time her voice was happy. "Good night, Tom."

Her last thought, before she returned to sleep, was thankfulness that Tom had distracted her from the Heir.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny raced through breakfast, eager to experiment with the diary, but as she left the Great Hall Percy hurried to her side.

"Ginny! I told you not to go anywhere alone," he said.

Ginny suppressed a glare. "I'm only going to the library. And it's broad daylight."

"I'll walk you there," said Percy, and he fell in beside her. "Lovely day out," he continued, "and Harry won us fifty points yesterday -- excellent bit of flying, that was! Gryffindor's in the lead for the House Cup."

Despite herself, Ginny smiled. "Cool." It was good for Harry to get some recognition, and good to see Percy feeling cheerful. He was much nicer when he forgot to be pompous and worried.

Percy deposited her at a table, nodded to Madam Pince, and strolled out of the library, whistling under his breath. Hmm, thought Ginny. That was a bit much for Percy, even in a cheerful mood. What had happened to him?

Well, she had more important things to wonder about. She stood and drifted into the stacks, toward one of the armchairs scattered around the walls of the library, in secluded nooks. Madam Pince was nice enough, so long as you showed proper respect and appreciation for the books she guarded, but Ginny didn't want anyone overhearing her conversation with Tom.

She spread the pages and inked her quill. "Hi Tom, I'm in the library. Do you want to figure out how well you can hear me?"

 _"Certainly, Ginevra,"_ he answered, his misty, almost-shapeless form appearing over the pages as her words sank into invisibility. _"Can you still hear me?"_

"Yes," wrote Ginny. "It's a really faint whisper, but I can hear you." She set down her quill. "Can you hear me?" she asked, speaking as clearly as she could while keeping her voice soft enough not to draw attention.

Tom's forehead furrowed, as if he were puzzling something out. _"'Can you hear me?'"_ he repeated. _"That's what you said. It's very faint, and rather fuzzy -- like a radio with too much static -- but I can hear you."_

"Radios get static? Like when your hair crackles after you put on a jumper?" asked Ginny, using her quill to make sure that Tom understood. "Magical wireless doesn't, but maybe eckletricity is different? Anyhow, we should try again with me farther away from the diary."

 _"That's a good idea,"_ wrote Tom. _"And yes, Muggle radios -- which use ELECTRICITY, Ginevra, not eckletricity -- get static. It's not a physical thing, but the crackling sound can interfere with the broadcast. I think it has to do with sunspots._

_"Now step back a few feet and try talking to me. Then we'll try at greater distances until I can't hear you anymore."_

"Sure," said Ginny, not bothering to write her agreement. She stood, laid the diary on the chair seat, and backed three steps away. "Can you still hear me, Tom?"

 _"YES."_ His answer was written in large letters, easily visible from a short distance, and his faint whisper echoed the writing in her ears.

"I'm moving away again," she said, as she took several more steps along the wall. "Can you hear me now?"

 _"Yes, Ginevra, I can hear you."_ By now she couldn't see if Tom was still writing on the diary pages, but his whisper was still clear, though fainter than before.

When she backed up another few steps, however, Ginny got no response to her question, only a muted hiss in her ears. She checked the distance: a bit over twelve feet. That wasn't nearly far enough to stop carrying the diary with her. She walked back to her armchair.

"I couldn't hear you past twelve feet," she wrote. "Could you still hear me when I asked?"

 _"No, only static,"_ wrote Tom. _"Now we ought to see if we can hear each other with the diary closed -- that would be helpful for privacy!"_

"Yes it would!" wrote Ginny. "I'm going to close the diary now. Is that okay?"

_"Certainly."_

Ginny waited until the ink had vanished back to wherever Tom stored it, and shut the small, battered book. "The diary's closed," she said aloud. "Can you hear me, Tom?"

There was no answer, not even the faint hissing she'd heard as she moved out of range. Toad guts. It would have been much easier if they could talk without having to open the book, but Ginny guessed the magic was too tied up in being a diary, and diaries were useless until you opened them to write.

She cracked open the diary and spread the pages flat again. "It didn't work," she said.

 _"So I noticed,"_ said Tom dryly. _"At any rate, we know the current limitations of this new form of communication, which is more than we knew before. Now I think you ought to pay attention to your brother's advice and return to somewhere a bit more public, just to be safe."_

"Spoilsport," muttered Ginny, but not even Tom's caution could dampen her excitement at finally being able to _talk_ to him without the delay and cramps of writing.

She moved back toward the center of the library and claimed a table, laying the diary open beside her while she worked on her two foot essay for Transfiguration. Tom hovered by her shoulder, making occasional comments, or drifted off within his twelve-foot limit to peer at the other students who wandered in and out of the stacks -- apparently only Ginny could see him.

It was a good morning; Ginny found herself humming as she headed down for lunch.

The mood in the Great Hall was tense and excited, and within a few steps Ginny fell silent. What had set everyone off now?

"--found him on the stairs, and he was Petrified just like Mrs. Norris!"

Ginny's head snapped around.

The Ravenclaw girl continued in a half-gleeful, half-horrified stage whisper. "They said he was sneaking out to visit _Harry Potter_ in hospital. But Potter got him! So now who's next?"

Visiting Harry. No. Oh God no. Her dream hadn't been just a dream; the Heir had struck again. And she'd sent Colin out to meet him.

Ginny ran from the Great Hall, all appetite lost. Maybe it hadn't been Colin. Maybe it was just a mistake. Her feet carried her to the hospital wing with hardly any conscious direction, leaving her panting outside the heavy doors.

She took a deep breath and slipped into the infirmary. Against the east wall, under the wide, white-curtained windows, was the bed they'd left Harry in yesterday afternoon. The bed two windows down was blocked off by cheerful yellow curtains that hung from a floating rod. Ginny tiptoed over and pulled the curtains aside.

Colin lay stiff and frozen, his hands raised in front of his face as if holding his camera. The camera itself lay beside him, melted film hanging out of its back.

"Here now! Get away from there."

Ginny jumped, jerking the curtains and bumping into Colin's bed. "I'm sorry!" she said, turning to face Madam Pomfrey's disapproving frown. "I just... they said he was Petrified and I didn't want to believe it." She felt the burning prickle of incipient tears, and swallowed heavily.

Madam Pomfrey's face softened. "As you see, Colin Creevey is, indeed, Petrified. But he's unharmed and we'll have him up and mobile again come spring. It will be all right."

Ginny swallowed again and looked back at Colin. "What did that to him? And what happened to his camera?"

"We aren't certain of the details," said Madam Pomfrey, her tone brisk again. "And there isn't anything students can do to help, other than take good class notes for Mr. Creevey to use when he returns to us. Run along now."

Reluctantly, Ginny let go of the curtains and left the infirmary.

It was true. Colin was Petrified, and it was her fault. It was her fault twice -- first she'd sent him out at night, alone, and then she'd probably set the Heir off while she was sleepwalking. A terrible thought struck her -- what if the person she'd run from in her sleep hadn't been the Heir, but had been Colin? What if she'd left him out there alone, after she'd made the Heir angry by getting away from some monster?

Her morning happiness had evaporated, leaving Ginny shaky and cold. Colin was a twit, but he didn't deserve this. Nobody deserved to be frozen like that, helpless, as good as dead. And she'd escaped the Heir twice now -- what would he do when he caught her? What could he have planned that would be worse than this?

She deserved it! Whatever it was, she deserved it for getting Colin Petrified.

"Happenstance," she said dully to the Fat Lady, and walked sightlessly through the common room to her dormitory.

Maybe she should talk to Tom. No, decided Ginny, he'd try to cheer her up, to reason her out of guilt, and she didn't deserve that yet. It was all her fault and she _ought_ to feel awful.

Curled into her blankets, huddled in on herself to keep out the sudden cold, Ginny clenched her fists and refused to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could basically be subtitled, "In which the author takes some liberties with events Rowling never bothered to explain for the express purpose of increasing Ginny's eventual paralyzing sense of guilt." Or maybe, "In which the author decides that there ought to be some intermediate steps between ink in a diary and a nearly physical body, and duly creates one."
> 
> World-building and logistics are like catnip, you know? And unless you posit that Tom had Ginny wandering the corridors, basilisk in tow, nearly every other night -- which is frankly ridiculous and stupidly implausible besides -- then he needed a reason to expect Colin Creevey to be out after curfew that night, and also a reason to think Colin would work as a piece in his slow frame job of Harry. As for the diary only working when it's open... hey, magical rules can be as weird as you like, so long as they make some kind of sense -- a spell in the form of a book shares some of the functional limitations of a book, how shocking! -- and you then obey them consistently.


	8. With a Family Like This...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Eighth: In which Ginny's guilt over Colin's Petrification drives more wedges between her and her family, while the Dueling Club disaster and third attack rekindle students' terror of the Heir. Thank goodness Tom is still there to listen and comfort her!

By Monday morning, everyone in the castle knew about Colin's Petrification, and nearly everyone was convinced it was Harry's fault -- Colin had, after all, annoyed Harry for weeks with his incessant photography, and he'd been sneaking out at night to annoy him again. Ginny would have protested this conclusion, but she still felt like scum for sending Colin to visit Harry when she'd known the Heir was around.

Tom told her over and over that she couldn't have known, that the Heir hadn't done anything for over a week, and that even if she _had_ been sleepwalking and run into the Heir, it wasn't her fault that she hadn't stayed to help Colin. She had, after all, been asleep.

Ginny acknowledged this, but she felt awful anyhow. "I don't care if I couldn't have known," she said to Tom. "I still sent him out there. And I can feel bad about it if I want to!"

_"I suppose I can't stop you,"_ said Tom, as he sat across from her at a library table. _"Are you certain you don't remember anything useful to tell the professors?"_

"Yes!" hissed Ginny. "And I don't want them poking around my head to see if they might find anything useful."

Tom shrugged and leaned back in his chair. He couldn't actually touch anything besides Ginny and the diary, they'd discovered, and those only with the lightest of pressures -- but other solid objects seemed to affect him despite his inability to reciprocate, which kept him from inadvertently drifting through walls or furniture.

_"I simply think you might feel better doing something you consider useful,"_ he said, _"rather than waiting for spring and the Mandrakes. I've noticed that Gryffindors like action, and while you're more intelligent than many of your housemates, you do seem happier when you're engaged in some plan or adventure."_

"Fine then." Ginny slammed shut her Charms textbook and stuffed it into her bag. "I'll do something -- I'll find Sir Vladislav and ask _him_ what he thinks I should do."

_"As you wish,"_ said Tom, before Ginny closed the diary and his form thinned and vanished like evaporating fog.

Ginny stomped through the corridors and down the stairs to the first floor, where the stairs had -- again! -- moved across the stairwell from Myrtle's bathroom and Sir Vladislav's alcove. Feeling somewhat put-upon, she began her trek through the first floor corridors, peering suspiciously at half-closed doors and large statues. Fred and George, noticing her worry over the attacks, had taken to jumping out at her from all manner of mad places -- generally with strange, magically induced deformities -- and she really didn't need them following her now.

As she walked down the corridor toward Sir Vladislav, a faint scuffling noise caught Ginny's ear. She glanced around, trying not to look like she'd noticed anything -- and Sir Vladislav casually knocked his sword against his greaves, the hollow sound of metal on metal echoing from the stone walls.

"Bloody hell!" cried two voices in unison, and the twins belatedly sprang from behind the suit of armor, sporting suppurating boils on their faces, overgrown buck teeth, and gnarled claws for fingers.

"That's not sporting, old chap," said Fred reprovingly to the suit of armor, lisping through his unnatural teeth. "You don't warn people before you surprise them." George nodded in agreement.

"I'd already heard you anyhow," said Ginny, glaring. "Stop following me! You're giving me heart attacks, jumping out from nowhere all the time."

"Aww, is ickle Ginny sweetums scared of her big brothers?" said Fred, grinning.

"Her big brothers who only want to cheer her up and make her smile?" added George, circling to her left as Fred circled right.

"No, and you know it, you toad-lickers," said Ginny, stepping aside to put Sir Vladislav at her back -- the twins would never hurt her, but she didn't trust them an inch when it came to embarrassing practical jokes.

"She insults us, George."

"I noticed that too, Fred."

"Family turning on each other."

"Tragic, absolutely tragic."

"It cuts my heart."

"Mine too."

"Oh, shut it," snapped Ginny, folding her arms. "If I'm upset, it's my problem, and you're not helping anyhow. Go bother Percy or Ron instead."

The twins exchanged speaking glances. "We would," said Fred, "but Ron's taken to vanishing rather effectively--"

"--and Percy's threatened to take fifty points off Gryffindor the next time we bother him--" said George.

"--which leaves you," they finished, with identical unsettling grins.

Ginny felt like she was back in Percy's first year at Hogwarts, when, deprived of their usual victim, the twins had tried to turn on her. That plan hit a snag when Ron refused to help them -- baiting Percy was fine, but baiting Ginny was different -- and the twins' first trick found Ginny ready and waiting for them. They were quickly reminded that, unlike Percy, Ginny would rather sock them in the nose than tattle to Mum... and she had a good right hook.

They'd been on a more equal footing after that, but the twins still hadn't been happy with the attention Mum lavished on her only daughter, or the way Mum had blown up over the one really spectacular prank they'd managed to pull on Ginny. Being Mum's favorite could be dangerous. And when Fred and George were upset, they could get vicious.

Ginny suspected they were more worried about the attacks than they were letting on.

"I don't care about Ron and Percy -- just leave me alone," she said now, refusing to back down. "Go bother the Slytherins."

"But how can we ignore our poor ickle Ginny sweetums--" cried George.

"--when she's so upset and all alone!" added Fred.

"She didn't ask you to ignore her, just to stop bothering her," said a new voice, startling all three Weasleys. The twins whirled; Ginny peered down the corridor between them. Harry stood at the head of the stairs -- which once again had shifted back across the well just in time to let people interrupt conversations in front of Myrtle's bathroom -- though in this case Ginny welcomed the interruption.

"If Ginny's upset, it won't help to scare her," continued Harry. "And you might scare someone else and get hexed -- people are jumpy." He frowned at the twins. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Ask Ginny," said Fred with a shrug. "We were following her."

Ginny wondered how they'd got ahead of her in that case, before realizing that Harry was waiting for her to explain herself, his brilliant green eyes fixed on her face. "Er, I just wanted to... to see the writing," she mumbled, pointing vaguely at the scarlet letters on the wall across from Myrtle's bathroom. "If it said anything else. Because Colin's in hospital."

"Oh," said Harry. "Yeah. Er, he'll be better in the spring."

"Yeah," muttered Ginny, flushing. Harry was talking to her! And she had no idea what to say. At least there wasn't a butter dish around to stick her elbow in.

The twins had been watching this exchange with vastly amused expressions. "I think," said George, "we'll leave you two lovebirds to your own devices."

"Ta then," said Fred. "Places to go, people to see -- you know how it is."

Laughing, they slipped off up the stairs, leaving Ginny and Harry staring blankly at each other.

"I'll go now," said Ginny after several seconds, Sir Vladislav forgotten in her embarrassment.

"Okay," said Harry.

Ginny hurried down the corridor -- away from the stairs, in case the twins were traveling slowly. They meant well enough, probably, by some skewed definition of "well," but she'd really rather not deal with them again just now.

Especially not after they'd watched her make a fool of herself in front of Harry.

\---------------------------------------------

Things calmed down after another week with no new attacks -- though the trade in protective charms continued at high volume -- and Ginny was able to focus on her work and learning from Tom. She didn't manage to use the Serpensortia hex on Daphne; it was just too flashy. She was able, though, to hit her with a Leg-Locker Jinx at just the right moment to have her crash headlong into Snape's desk. Daphne insisted she'd been shoved or hexed, but Snape -- furious at the destruction of his ingredients -- for once took points from Slytherin.

Ginny felt quite smug about that, despite the glares Apple sent her way.

At the beginning of December, Errol splashed down into Percy's pumpkin juice during breakfast, bearing a letter from Mum. Percy handed the owl down the table to Ginny, who wrapped him in a napkin for later delivery to the Owlery; there was no point in exhausting the ancient bird again by making him fly there. Meanwhile, Percy dried the letter, looked it over, frowned, and called for a family meeting that evening. The other Weasleys looked askance at each other; they hadn't done anything noteworthy lately.

"So, Percy, what's got you so hot and bothered?" asked Fred when they commandeered a corner of the common room.

Percy scowled; the others snickered. "Mum and Dad invited Uncle Edward for Christmas, and he's bringing Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Bernice with him. We have to decide whether to go home or stay at Hogwarts for the holidays."

"I'm staying!" said Ron immediately.

"So are we," said George, throwing his arm behind Fred's shoulder.

Percy looked expectantly to Ginny. "I'm not going anywhere near Aunt Bernice!" she said. "She's always turning up her nose and telling Mum I'm a tomboy, and then Mum forces me into those stupid lacy dresses. I won't do it."

"Good show, Ginny," agreed Fred. "So then, we're all staying. Right, Percy?"

Percy frowned. "Simply because Aunt Bernice is difficult to get along with is no reason to avoid family obligations. But if you lot are that inconsiderate, I'll tell Mum I'm coming alone."

"Oh no you don't!" exclaimed Fred, leaning forward and shaking his hand at Percy. "You're not making us look bad for staying. _None_ of us are going home." The others nodded in agreement.

Percy opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny cut him off. "Come on, Percy. You don't like Aunt Bernice any better than we do -- and we'll see them over the summer anyhow."

"Don't remind me," groaned Ron. Ginny stuck her tongue out at him.

"Listen, Percy," said George. "It's four against one here. You agree to stay or we'll make your life miserable the rest of term."

"Blackmail is inappropriate behavior and unworthy of Gryffindors," snapped Percy, "and I'm certain Mum will agree when I tell her."

"Bloody tattler," said Fred. "Solve your own problems, you prat. You already said you'd tell Mum we were giving Ginny nightmares -- which we weren't -- and now you're threatening to tattle for something we haven't even done yet?"

"Hey!" said Ginny. "What do you mean, he said he'd tell Mum you were giving me nightmares?"

"For jumping out at you--" said George.

"--with boils and whatnot--" added Fred.

"--why else did you think we stopped?"

Ginny glared accusingly at Percy. "You were obviously upset, and you're still looking too pale and tired," said Percy defensively. "I had only your best interests in mind."

Ginny folded her arms and sulked. "I can look after my own best interests."

"Right," agreed Ron. "But if you want to look after us, Percy, stay at Hogwarts. You can make sure we don't do anything... embarrassing."

Fred snickered. "Yeah, make sure we don't explode the prefects' bathroom."

"You wouldn't!" said Percy, looking alarmed.

"If you're at the Burrow, how will you stop us?" asked George, winking at Ginny and Ron.

"You leave me no recourse," Percy huffed. "I'll tell Mum we're abandoning her to Aunt Bernice. And you," he said, rounding on Ginny, "will come with me to the hospital wing and take some Pepperup potion. You're still too pale."

Ginny clutched the arms of her chair. "You can't make me!"

"Yes I can." Percy grabbed her shoulders and hauled her upright.

"Oi, let go! Help!"

The twins held up their hands ostentatiously. "You said you could look after yourself," said Fred. "We won't interfere." Ron looked guilty, but didn't stop Percy from marching her across the common room and out the portrait hole.

Toad-licking cowards, fumed Ginny as Percy dragged her toward the hospital wing. She hated them all. Percy was a patronizing idiot. The twins were determined to do the opposite of what she wanted -- always around when she'd rather be alone, and then no help when she did want some. And Ron -- what did he think he was doing, throwing her to Percy as a sacrifice? She was sick and tired of being a pawn in family arguments.

"I'll get you for this," she told Percy as he opened the infirmary doors. "You just wait."

"I don't care about your silly revenge," he said. "You're still running around by yourself with a dangerous person on the loose, and you don't take care of your health. Whatever you might do to me is minor in comparison."

"That's what you think," muttered Ginny, and took her Pepperup potion, carefully not looking toward the curtained bed where Colin lay Petrified.

\---------------------------------------------

A few days later, the Weasleys put down their names to stay over the holidays. Percy maintained his disapproving stance in public, but he lost some tension once he signed Professor McGonagall's list. He talked a good talk, but none of the Weasleys liked Aunt Bernice and her endless disapproval. They weren't fond of Aunt Charlotte's weepy reminiscences of her dead husband, either, and while Uncle Edward was easygoing and had fascinating stories from his years as an Auror, he was somewhat deaf and talked at the top of his voice. He also had apparently never heard of dental hygiene, and his breath reeked of garlic.

Ginny suspected Percy hadn't really minded being bullied into staying at Hogwarts, though of course he'd never admit that.

The next weeks were quiet, aside from the stress leading up to end of term exams, and though some people still avoided Harry, the fear of an immediate attack receded further.

Ginny spent most of her spare time with Tom, exploring the castle or looking through interesting books in the library. Tom seemed to be getting more solid -- he was still misty and mostly intangible, but the mist now had hints of color, and when he tapped Ginny on the shoulder or fended off a mock swipe, his touch had more weight behind it.

_"At this rate I may be able to leave the diary by March -- that's much earlier than I would have expected,"_ he said one evening.

Ginny tried not to look smug. "I told you I'd get you out."

_"And don't think I'm not grateful,"_ said Tom.

"You really should be."

This calm routine lasted until nearly the end of term, when, after lunch on Thursday, Ginny spotted a clump of excited people around the notice board in the entrance hall. "What is it?" she asked Susan, who had just pushed out from the crowd.

Susan sniffed, but said readily enough, "They're starting a Dueling Club -- first meeting this evening. I'm going! We need to be able to defend ourselves against Harry Potter."

"He isn't the Heir," grumbled Ginny reflexively, but she admitted that it would be good to know ways to fight when she -- probably inevitably -- ran into the Heir again. She wasn't certain how useful dueling would be if she sleepwalked, but there was always a chance she might wake partway through an encounter, or that the Heir might start attacking during daylight.

That evening, Ginny joined most of the school as they flooded into the Great Hall at eight o'clock, dropping their bags and scarves near the doors. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along the wall where the head table usually stood. The ceiling was velvety black, reflecting the moonless night sky, and the thousands of floating candles were raised so high they seemed almost like miniature stars.

Ginny pushed her way over to Xanthe and the other Hufflepuff first years.

"Hi, Ginny!" said Xanthe, standing on tiptoes and waving over Caroline and Anne's shoulders. "This is so cool."

"Yeah," agreed Ginny. Then a thought struck her. "Do you know who's teaching us?"

"No idea," said Xanthe.

"Well _I_ think it's Professor Lockhart," said Caroline, bubbling with even more enthusiasm than usual. "He's the Defense teacher, after all, and he's fought so many evil wizards!"

Anne nodded, while Ginny and Xanthe exchanged despairing glances.

"Oooh, look -- I was right!" cried Caroline, and Lockhart himself swept through the staff door onto the golden stage, wearing remarkably frilly plum-colored robes. Snape followed him, looking, thought Ginny, as though he was both looking forward to watching Lockhart make a fool of himself, and feeling nauseated that he'd have to be around the other man long enough for that humiliation to occur.

"Gather round, gather round," called Lockhart, waving his arms. "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions -- for full details, see my published works."

"Self-absorbed git," Ginny muttered in Xanthe's ear. Xanthe nodded.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," continued Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry -- you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Don't worry, you can keep him!" whispered Xanthe.

Ginny snickered. "I'd be more worried for Lockhart -- if I cared."

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, while Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart said, turning aside to face the crowd and flash another smile. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

Ginny thought that would be more of a problem for Snape than Lockhart; the Potions master was visibly struggling to suppress either a sneer or a teeth-baring grimace.

"One -- two -- three--"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent, but while Lockhart was still adjusting his wrist position, Snape struck.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

A dazzling flash of scarlet light blasted Lockhart off his feet; he flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl in an untidy heap of fabric.

Some of the Slytherins -- including Draco Malfoy and Daphne -- cheered. Ginny and Xanthe shrugged; it was about what they'd expected. Caroline and Anne, on the other hand, were twitching with nerves.

"Is he hurt? Is he dead?" asked Anne.

"I can't look!" said Caroline, peeking through her fingers.

"Stop being such babies," said Xanthe, her tone kinder than Ginny thought the others deserved. "Look, he's getting up."

Lockhart was, indeed, clambering unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end, his careful styling job ruined. One of the nearby girls offered him a comb, which he accepted with a brilliant smile and made quick use of.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm -- as you see, I've lost my wand -- ah, thank you, Miss Brown -- yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy -- however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see..."

Snape's glare had turned positively murderous. Lockhart seemed to notice, unlikely though that sounded, because he quickly changed the subject. "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me--"

They moved through the crowd, starting from opposite ends of the stage and matching up partners. Snape discovered the first years huddled more or less together and sneered. "First years, in your Potions groups. Miss Wilkinson, your normal group has three members; partner Mr. Leeds instead, since his regular partner is currently lazing about in hospital."

Anne allowed Snape to deposit her in front of Jasper, both looking somewhat flustered at Snape's callous dismissal of Colin's unfortunate fate.

Ginny stayed next to Xanthe and Caroline -- who, it turned out, were Potions partners -- and waited for Electra to come over. Eventually the Slytherin girl pushed through the other Hufflepuffs, dragging Daphne and Ruth in her wake.

"Weasley," said Electra, her heart-shaped face screwed into an expression of utmost disdain.

"It isn't as if I asked to be your partner," said Ginny, glaring at the blonde girl and at Daphne, who was hovering behind Electra's shoulder.

Electra sniffed. Daphne grinned in a rather unsettling manner, and Ginny was very unhappy when Electra maneuvered her into standing with her back to the other Slytherin.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"

Ginny ducked her head, trying to sneak a look at Daphne while she was bent over.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm you opponents -- only to disarm them -- we don't want any accidents -- one... two... three--"

Ginny swung her wand over her head and yelled, " _Expelliarmus!_ " She'd never practiced this charm before, and she was startled when red light shot toward Electra.

Of course, Electra had also managed to make the charm work, Ginny realized, as a matching blast of light crashed into her shoulder, jarring her grip on her wand. She looked over at Electra; the Slytherin had fallen backwards and was now shaking her head dizzily and groping for her lost wand. "Yes!" said Ginny, turning away. "Xanthe, did you see -- I did it!"

Something crashed into her back; Ginny found herself slumping to the floor, her legs no longer willing to support her. She caught herself with her hands and twisted to look behind herself.

"Sorry, Weasley!" said Daphne brightly, wand still pointed at Ginny. "I need to work on my aim." Ruth and a dazed-looking Electra giggled beside her.

Argh. That backstabbing, toad-licking, scum-sucking cow! " _Aquifer Maxima!_ " shouted Ginny, sweeping her wand in the general direction of the Slytherin trio and concentrating as hard as she could on the spell Professor Sprout had taught them last week. She wasn't certain her mangled version would work, but she needed more than just a trickle...

A wide jet of high-pressure water shot from her wand, drenching the laughing girls. They'd been wearing mascara, Ginny noted, and a lot of it; it was painting dark streaks down their faces as water dripped from their hair.

"Sorry," said Ginny, her tone carefully neutral. "I need to work on my aim too."

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, his voice echoing fruitlessly through the hall. Ginny blinked, dismissing Daphne for a moment, and looked around: multicolored spells flashed back and forth in the crowd, many of them clearly not Disarming Charms, and a greenish haze of misfired magic was rising toward the ceiling.

At that point, Snape took charge. " _Finite Incantatem!_ " he shouted, describing a circle with his wand and halting the runaway spells. He retreated to the stage, sneering, as Lockhart skittered through the carnage.

Ginny regained control of her legs, and stood up. This was obviously not a good way to run a Dueling Club -- students were sprawled all over the hall in various stages of distress. Xanthe patted Caroline's back while the dark girl coughed up butterflies; Jasper, under the influence of Anne's glare, grudgingly apologized for breaking her glasses; Apple clutched her now-purple plait in disbelief as Susan tried to undo her scrambled spell; and various other first years seemed rather dazed from bad falls.

Ginny glanced over at Daphne and winced at the Slytherin girl's murderous expression. "That was my best robe, Weasley," said Daphne, tucking away a mascara-streaked bit of cloth and wringing out her sleeves, "and you got it wet. And I'll never get the stains out of my handkerchief. You'll regret this."

Ginny shrugged nonchalantly, but edged closer to Xanthe just in case.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, still picking his way toward Snape through the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan.... Careful there, Miss Fawcett.... Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot--

"I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells," he said, standing flustered in the middle of the hall. He glanced at Snape, and looked quickly away from the Potions master's dark eyes. "Let's have a volunteer pair -- Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you--"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker, and Ginny fumed. Yes, Neville was a bit hopeless, but still! There were limits.

"How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart. He waved Harry and Draco Malfoy into the middle of the hall; the crowd backed away to give them room.

"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do _this_."

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops -- my wand is a little overexcited--"

Xanthe tapped Ginny on the shoulder. "Why is Snape going along with this nonsense?"

"He wants to humiliate Harry," whispered Ginny. "See, he's telling something to Draco Malfoy. Stinking cheater."

Snape was, indeed, whispering in Draco's ear, causing a smirk to spread across the Slytherin's pale face. Harry seemed to be asking Lockhart something, but the professor paid no attention.

"Three -- two -- one -- go!" he shouted, beaming with excitement.

Malfoy raised his wand and bellowed, " _Serpensortia!_ "

The end of his wand exploded. Ginny gasped as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between the two boys, and raised itself, ready to strike. That was the hex Tom had taught her -- the snake was magically compelled to bite _somebody_ , and its venom could be as concentrated as the caster desired. At its strongest, it could kill in minutes! She backed away involuntarily, feeling the other first years press against her in their hurry to get away from the snake.

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape, an amused smirk on his face as he walked closer to the motionless Harry. "I'll get rid of it..."

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake. With a loud bang and a puff of lavender sparkles, the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and crashed to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward a Hufflepuff boy and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Ginny covered her face with her hands, peering through her fingers. She really hoped Madam Pomfrey had the antidote to Serpensortia venom.

And then Harry dashed forward, still pale and unsteady from surprise, and shouted at the snake -- no, hissed at it, in a weird, harsh voice that wasn't his own -- and the snake slumped to the floor, head resting on its loose coils and eyes fixed on Harry.

Ginny blinked. Harry had broken the snake's compulsion. You could do that?

Wait a minute. Harry had _hissed_ at the snake. He was a Parselmouth. That was Slytherin. That was bad. But he'd saved the Hufflepuff boy. That was good. Not even people as silly as the other first years could get angry with him for saving somebody, right?

"What do you think you're playing at?"

The shouted words jarred Ginny out of her racing thoughts, and she looked up as the Hufflepuff boy stormed out of the hall, shaking with rage or fear, leaving Harry dumbstruck in his wake.

Snape stepped forward and banished the snake, never taking his eyes off Harry. He had a calculating look on his face, as if he'd received a key to a vault with unknown but possibly valuable contents. Ginny didn't like that look.

Ron and Hermione didn't seem to like it either, because they grabbed hold of Harry and steered him out of the hall; people drew aside to let them pass.

"Love of light," said Xanthe from beside Ginny, sounding shaken. "Love of light, Harry Potter's a _Parselmouth_."

"That's dark magic, Slytherin magic," said Caroline in a worried tone. "Maybe Ernie's right and he _is_ the Heir of Slytherin."

"But he told it to leave that boy alone," said Ginny. "Didn't you see? It was going to attack, and then it stopped when Harry told it to." And so what if he was a Parselmouth? Talking to snakes couldn't be evil if what you said helped somebody, no matter what other people had done with that ability.

Caroline shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe he just wanted it to wait for a better time -- how are we supposed to know what all that hissing meant?"

"No, that doesn't make sense," said Anne, "not if Snape could banish the snake that easily. But they say You-Know-Who talked to snakes. Maybe it's a sign."

"A sign of what?" demanded Ginny.

"To be careful," said Anne. "The Chamber of Secrets is open, someone's Petrifying people, and now Harry Potter's a Parselmouth. And Justin Finch Fletchley -- the boy the snake was going after -- he's Muggle-born. I'd watch out for Harry Potter."

"He's not the Heir! Even if he can talk to snakes, that doesn't mean he's evil -- he was keeping it away from that Justin person. _Lockhart's_ the one who set the snake on Justin." Ginny felt like tearing her hair out.

Xanthe patted her worriedly on the shoulder. "Ginny, nobody's saying--"

"I'm not saying Harry Potter's the Heir," interrupted Anne. "I'm just saying I'd be careful around him. You never know." She glared at Ginny. "And Professor Lockhart didn't do that on purpose. He must've still been shaken up from when Snape cheated and knocked him down." Caroline nodded emphatically.

"Snape's a toad-licker but he didn't cheat; Lockhart's just an idiot. And Harry isn't evil." Ginny returned Anne and Caroline's glares, nodded to Xanthe, and shoved her way through the milling, gossiping crowd, pausing only to scoop up her bag before she slipped out of the Great Hall.

What was it about people that made them turn into complete idiots whenever something a little bit different happened? And why did they all want to think it was Harry's fault? He'd saved everyone when he was just a baby -- why did they think he was going to turn evil now?

Ginny fumed, stalking blindly through the corridors until she found herself at the door of Myrtle's bathroom, hand stretched toward the brass doorknob. She frowned. Yes, she wanted to talk to Tom, and yes, she wasn't likely to be interrupted in Myrtle's bathroom, but it was an odd place to go while not paying attention, especially since she didn't walk this way normally. If her feet were going places on their own, she'd expect to end up in the Gryffindor common room or the library, not visiting Myrtle's dank home.

Nevertheless, it was private. Ginny opened the door and walked in.

The bathroom had been cleaned a bit since the last time she'd been inside, as if someone had lost all patience with the scummy floor and given it a good scrubbing. A quiet burbling caught Ginny's ear, and she peeked into one of the abandoned stalls.

Someone had left a potion brewing over a toilet, warmed by a waterproof blue fire. Ginny frowned. Who would be using Myrtle's bathroom to brew a potion? And why brew potions out of class anyhow?

Hmm. "Hermione conjures blue fires," Ginny muttered to herself, fishing the diary from her bag and opening it so Tom could hear. "Tom, I'm in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and there's a potion brewing over one of the toilets with a portable fire under it, the kind you can make all different colors. This one's blue, and Hermione always colors hers blue. And I know she was in here last month with Ron and Harry, trying to find out about the Heir. Do you think they might be brewing this potion."

_"Maybe they are,"_ said Tom, wavering into visibility. _"But their last adventure turned out to be harmless, so if Harry and your brother are involved I don't think it particularly matters what the potion is. In any case, truly dangerous potions tend to require constant attention from the brewer and if this were something of the Heir's, I'd expect it to be better guarded than this."_

Ginny winced. "I didn't even think of that. But that reminds me -- I need to tell you about the Dueling Club. It turned out to be Lockhart's idea, and he made an utter mess of it. Snape was there too -- he actually knows what he's doing -- but he just wanted to watch Lockhart humiliate himself.

"Anyhow, after we tried dueling -- I disarmed Electra, Daphne hexed me from behind, and I got her back with a watering spell -- it was dead cool, really -- they had a demonstration pair, and Snape picked Harry and Draco Malfoy. Only he cheated and told Malfoy how to cast Serpensortia. The snake got mad and was going to bite a Hufflepuff -- Justin Finch-Fletchley, I think -- but Harry hissed at it and it backed off."

Ginny looked at Tom, making sure he realized the significance of this.

Tom quirked an eyebrow in confusion. _"So Harry Potter is a Parselmouth. That's interesting, but I don't see what it has to do with the Heir."_

"Because the Heir is the Heir of _Slytherin_ ," Ginny said, giving Tom the look she usually reserved for Ron's moments of supreme idiocy, "and Slytherin was a Parselmouth. Mum says You-Know-Who was too. So now everyone thinks Harry's the Heir again! And Ron and Hermione hauled him off before he could explain anything."

She kicked halfheartedly at the pipes under one of the sinks, too worried to storm around and burn up her anger. "Anne said Harry might have been telling the snake to attack Justin, because Justin's Muggle-born. But he wasn't; Harry told it to leave him alone. It was obvious! The snake backed off and curled up -- he broke the compulsion -- and if Harry stopped the snake from biting Justin, why does it matter how he did it?"

Tom shrugged. _"People don't think logically when they're afraid. They look for scapegoats instead, and Harry is unfortunately in a position where he's an obvious target. People like to see heroes brought to earth, to see great men revealed as liars and agents of evil. Harry is suffering because of that impulse as well as the desire to create a scapegoat."_

He walked over to the window and sat on the sill, grimacing at the slight mildew residue. _"I've never understood why Parseltongue is looked on with so much fear and hatred. Then again, I've never understood why people dislike snakes. They're generally harmless, and can be useful and friendly pets. Also, Slytherin was a great man before he left Hogwarts, whatever he may have done afterward. Why do people remember only his departure instead of the decades he spent building this school and teaching young wizards -- not only those of his House, and not only those of pure blood?"_

Ginny sighed. "Because people are stupid and don't think logically and want scapegoats and like to see great men brought low. Like you said."

She leaned against the sink nearest to the window. Her anger was starting to seep away, leaving a sort of empty worry and frustration in its place, emotions that weren't much good at keeping away her sudden tiredness. "It isn't fair. It isn't fair at all. I suppose it isn't Justin's fault he got scared and ran out of the hall -- I'd be scared if a giant snake came after me! -- but he didn't have to yell at Harry like it was all Harry's idea. That was Snape and Malfoy's fault, for summoning it, and Lockhart's fault for making it mad and knocking it in front of him."

_"Illogical thinking. Scapegoats,"_ Tom reminded her, smiling ironically.

"Yeah."

Ginny fiddled with her wand, realizing she still had it loose in her pocket instead of back in her bag. "Tom, are there any spells to make people stop being idiots?"

_"That would be useful,"_ agreed Tom. _"Unfortunately, changing people's minds is dark magic -- think of the Imperius Curse, for example. Even Memory Charms can be dangerous, which is why their use is carefully regulated. Anything much stronger than a Cheering Charm -- and anything that causes negative emotions -- is unfair tampering and probably illegal."_

Ginny considered that. "I suppose that makes sense. But I was thinking more... a spell to make people calm down and think about things logically instead of jumping to conclusions. That shouldn't be unfair, right? It's actually helping people think straight."

Tom shrugged, running his fingers through the pages of the diary. _"One would think so, but it's still interfering with people's natural thinking processes. That sort of spell -- which does exist, if I remember correctly -- is illegal except in cases of extreme emotional distress or insanity, and only trained Healers are allowed to use it. I wouldn't begin to know how to teach it to you, even if I knew how to cast it myself."_

"Toad guts."

_"It's irritating, I know, but think of how you'd feel if someone cast a spell to make you think that Harry's the Heir."_ Ginny made a face, and Tom nodded. _"Exactly. That's why those spells are so dangerous -- there's no guarantee the person using them is thinking straight himself."_

Ginny sighed and moved next to Tom, leaning against his side. He didn't feel completely solid yet -- touching him reminded her of pressing on a feather pillow -- but any human contact was a comfort. "It isn't fair. Everything's a mess -- Colin's in hospital, everyone hates Harry, my brothers are idiots -- and I can't do anything to fix it."

Tom patted her awkwardly on the shoulder -- he still didn't seem very experienced at having a surrogate little sister. _"I know, Ginevra, I know. But don't worry. I'm here with you."_

\---------------------------------------------

_-This way, my lady- the dark man whispered. -Rest and sleep; I will seek out spies-_

_They slipped through the castle, hand in hand, and the princess let him lead. The moon shone through broken windows to cast silver shadows on the tiles, serpentine threads of light twined amidst the darkness._

_-Where do you lead?- the princess asked._

_-Through dark and shadow, shame and secrets- The dark man smiled. -Ahead is the chamber that holds the records. The sorceress sleeps; her spies are uncovered. Shall I seek them? Shall we strike?-_

_-Yes- she told him, and he found the answers._

Ginny blinked awake in her bed, surrounded by darkness. "Strange dream," she muttered. The princess had been out looking for things again. "At least I didn't go anywhere this time."

She rolled over and drifted back to sleep.

_They slipped from the castle, into the storm, swallowed by snow and silence. -The first beast is dead- the dark man whispered, -but the giant has found another-_

_-Kill it- she told him._

_Their hands strangled the beast, closing the throat forever, silencing its deathly cries. A stone sliced through the breast, let the blood flow, disguising their work._

_-All is prepared, my lady. We await but your word to silence the spies. Shall I seek them? Shall we strike?-_

_-Yes- she told him, and the dark man smiled._

"Mmrph." Ginny flicked her bed curtains closed after one glance around the room and flopped onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow. The sun was up, though it was hard to tell through the snowfall whiting out the windowpanes, and she didn't feel rested. Her feet felt gritty, as though she had sand in her sheets.

Ginny blinked. Had she been out walking again last night? She peered under her covers -- yes, her feet were gritty and there was dirt smeared around her sheets. Her fingers were ink-stained, as though she'd been paging through a badly-printed book, or taking very sloppy notes. And there were feathers in her hair again, a bright red-brown color. They weren't owl feathers, she realized -- they looked just like the chicken feathers always lying around the yard at home. Had she gone wandering _outside?_ In the middle of December?

She thought she'd been dreaming about the princess again, but the dragon hadn't been there. The idiot girl had been looking for something else, or talking to someone. But this dream was hazier than the others, and that was all she remembered.

She really hoped the Heir hadn't been out taking advantage of the new suspicions toward Harry.

There were other people in the room so she couldn't talk to Tom directly; she'd have to write. Ginny sighed and slipped the diary out from under her pillow. "Dear Tom," she wrote, as he materialized, "I'm writing because I don't want anyone to overhear us. I sleepwalked again last night, and I think I went outside -- I have rooster feathers all over -- but I don't remember what the princess was doing in my dreams, just that she was looking for something. Do you think anything happened?"

_"Since you're still here and unharmed, Ginevra, I doubt any calamity struck during the night."_

"I'm not worried about me," wrote Ginny, frowning at her friend. "But everyone's suspicious of Harry again since the Dueling Club -- what if the Heir did something!"

_"The only way to find out is to get up and look around,"_ said Tom. _"I assume we'll talk later, when you know more?"_

"Of course! Thanks, Tom." Ginny closed the diary and attempted to stand; she wavered on her feet, feeling as drained as if she'd been running all night. Maybe she had been.

The worst thing about sleepwalking, decided Ginny, as she made her slow, shaky way down to the Great Hall -- worse even than being tired the next day -- was not having any idea what she'd been doing in the night. Yes, the dreams helped a little, but they were always hazy and cloaked in weird symbolism, and she remembered even less of this last one than usual.

She slumped into a seat at the Gryffindor table, nearly setting her hand into a bowl of scrambled eggs in her effort to keep from falling face-first into her plate.

"Ginny!" Percy's alarmed voice, strident against her tired ears, cleared out some of the haze. "Ginny, you look awful," he continued, "far too pale, and you're falling asleep into your food. We're going to see Madam Pomfrey right now."

Ginny fixed her hands on either side of her plate and stared straight ahead. "No, we're not. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm just tired. I'll be fine once I eat breakfast."

Percy glared at her. "I don't know what's got into you lately -- always snappish, always pushing us away. You're not yourself. You need to see Madam Pomfrey."

"I don't! And you can't make me!" Ginny met Percy's glare venom for venom. "Stop treating me like I'm a baby -- I'm eleven years old and I'm not going to fall to pieces just because I'm a little bit tired."

By now the rest of the early-rising Gryffindors were watching them, some covertly and some with less concern about potential rudeness. "You're making a scene," said Ginny. "And Snape's coming in the door -- he'll take points."

"You're an insufferable little brat," huffed Percy, "and I can't believe I'm related to you. If you faint or come down with fever, don't say I didn't warn you." He retreated to the other end of the table and began rather viciously slicing an apple.

Ginny grabbed a piece of toast from a platter and buttered it, spreading the melting yellow pat evenly over the bread. She _wasn't_ a baby. She was eleven years old and she was at Hogwarts now. She was old enough to learn magic, old enough to be trusted not to make her spells go wild. Why didn't her brothers realize she was old enough to take care of herself?

Ginny finished her toast and pushed her plate away, resting her head briefly on her arms. She was so tired; she'd just close her eyes for a minute...

\---------------------------------------------

"Miss Weasley, while it's commendable to be early for class, please move from the doorway so the fifth years can exit."

Ginny blinked. What on earth? Numbly, she moved aside and let a stream of larger students flow past her while she tried to figure out where she was. On the other side of the exiting students, Professor McGonagall regarded her with a slightly puzzled expression.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley. Come in and sit down; you look a bit peaked," said Professor McGonagall.

Ginny walked through the open door into the Transfiguration classroom. What was going on? She'd closed her eyes for a moment at breakfast, and now she was in Professor McGonagall's classroom, apparently just fifteen minutes before her morning lesson.

She'd lost almost three hours.

Had she been sleepwalking again? But she hadn't even dreamed anything! And she hadn't gone to sleep... at least, Ginny didn't think she had. She'd just put her head down for a moment and blanked out completely.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

She really had to talk to Tom.

Ginny attempted to focus on Professor McGonagall's lecture, but her mind kept whirling away to horrible speculations. And then, halfway through the lesson -- they were attempting to create color patterns in fabrics, which had interesting results when people didn't aim their wands properly and colored desks, parchment sheets, or other people's hair by mistake -- a distant crash echoed through the castle. Ginny flinched. Oh God.

Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together and frowned. "Peeves, no doubt. Continue."

Ginny raised her wand for another attempt, when a scream rang out. "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"

Professor McGonagall whitened, seized her wand, and dashed out the door. The first years followed on her heels, Ginny quietly panicking in the rear. She'd been right! The Heir _had_ done something! And she couldn't remember where she'd been this morning.

They pelted down several corridors and arrived at utter chaos, students and teachers milling about, trying to see who the new victim was. Professor McGonagall grabbed everyone's attention by setting off a loud bang, and ordered the students back to class. As they trailed away from the scene, Ginny was able to peer back and see a tableau that made her heart sink.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying Petrified on the floor. Nearly Headless Nick, gone black and smoky, was floating horizontally next to him. And Harry was standing beside them, staring in shock.

It was the sort of set-up the twins could only dream of.

" _Caught in the act!_ " a white-faced Hufflepuff boy yelled melodramatically, pointing his finger at Harry. All through the corridor, students nodded in fascinated agreement.

"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply. The Hufflepuff -- who must be the Ernie Macmillan that Xanthe had mentioned as a rumor-monger -- backed off resentfully and joined the slow flood of students away from the scene.

Peeves's voice followed the first years back to the Transfiguration room, singing. "Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done? You're killing off students, you think it's good fun..."

Ginny looked at the panic, excitement, and absolute conviction of Harry's guilt on the faces of her classmates, and felt sick.

\---------------------------------------------

This new attack turned the undercurrent of worry into outright fear, fueled by rumors and speculations spilling wildly through the castle. Justin had stood up to Harry Potter, and look what had happened to him! And what on earth could Petrify a ghost? What could hurt someone who was already dead?

Most of the people who'd previously signed up to stay over the holidays changed their minds and booked last-minute seats on the Hogwarts Express.

"Cowards," muttered Ginny as her housemates lined up to scratch their names off Professor McGonagall's list.

Susan shot her a sour look. "We're just being sensible, Ginny. It's easy for _you_ to be brave -- your brother can probably talk Harry Potter out of hurting you -- but what about the rest of us?"

Ginny stomped over to the portrait hole rather than answer Susan.

What did they know anyhow, all those idiots? They didn't know that Ginny had seen the Heir. They didn't know that he seemed to be toying with her, scaring her and letting her go, wiping her memory and watching her fear build. They didn't know it was her fault Colin had gone to visit Harry after the Quidditch match.

She couldn't tell anyone except Tom. Percy would only drag her off to the hospital wing again, and she might as well be invisible for all the attention Ron gave her. As for the twins...

"Look out, make way!"

"Step aside for the Heir of Slytherin!"

"Stand back, seriously evil wizard coming through!"

Fred and George appeared around the corner, waving their arms at the few students in the corridor. Harry, walking behind them -- for once without Ron and Hermione -- seemed to lost in his thoughts, not really noticing the twins' games. He didn't notice the way people flinched away from him as though they took Fred and George at face value.

Ginny gritted her teeth. "Stop it!" she said, stepping into George's personal space. "How would you like it if everyone went around saying _you_ were an evil wizard?"

Fred stepped over and slung his arm around George's shoulders, meeting Ginny's glare. "Oi, you sound like Percy," he grumbled. "Keeps saying 'this is no laughing matter,' 'you should watch your steps,' and all that rot."

"What's funnier than Harry being an evil wizard?" asked George. "Really, Ginny, lighten up and see what a joke it is!"

Ginny fumed. "It _isn't_ funny! Colin's in hospital, and Mrs. Norris and Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and nobody knows who's doing it!"

The twins exchanged glances, but Harry spoke first. "It's all right," he said, catching Ginny's eyes. "It's nice to know at least somebody thinks me being the Heir is a silly idea."

Ginny flushed, but tried valiantly not to stammer or look away in embarrassment. "But they're just making everyone else think you're evil. Nobody else notices they're joking, or they think all Weasleys are safe because of Ron."

"Now there's a thought," interrupted George with a mock-thoughtful expression. "Hmm. D'you suppose we could get our little brother to exert his influence on you, Harry, and let us pick your next victim?"

"Who should it be?" asked Fred.

"Oh, Flint, obviously," said George. Fred nodded, and they both turned to Harry.

"So, almighty Heir, what do you say to Petrifying Flint?"

"Oh, _don't!_ " Ginny cried. "Don't say things like that! What if he _is_ next, and somebody remembers hearing this? Then everyone will really think it's all Harry's fault." And how will you feel, she added to herself, knowing that you wanted him gone? Revenge sounds nice, but it doesn't feel good at all, not when people end up in hospital, as good as dead.

"Then everyone will be incredibly stupid," said Fred. "Give it a rest, Ginny."

The twins walked off in a huff, leaving Ginny to stare at Harry with the realization that he'd just heard her practically wailing in distress over the idea that people thought he was evil. She felt her face flame to a temperature that she was sure made her tomato red. Why couldn't she ever managed anything properly around him?

"Er..." she said.

"Thanks for believing I'm not the Heir," said Harry awkwardly, "but don't worry about Fred and George. Er, I should be going."

"Right," said Ginny, and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief note on the dream sequences! The first one exists to fill a plot hole in CoS. There is no way Ginny should have known Justin Finch-Fletchley's schedule in enough detail to find a good time to attack him, so I had her break into McGonagall's office and check. That may not come across clearly in the text, but that's what I was trying to do. The second is, of course, about killing another rooster, because one must always check for roosters before mucking around with basilisks. It is a Rule. *nods firmly*


	9. Telling Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Ninth: In which things settle down over Christmas holidays, until Xanthe tells Ginny a bit of family history that casts the previous months in a new and unwelcome light.

The Monday before Christmas, students poured out of the castle and into carriages bound for the Hogsmeade train station. Gryffindor Tower was nearly empty -- apparently no one wanted to be close to Harry without the camouflage of other students -- which left Ginny alone with her brothers, Harry, and Hermione.

She was glad the Gryffindors were gone, but she wished Xanthe had stayed. Instead, she'd handed Ginny a small present, wished her Merry Christmas, and disappeared along with her housemates. The Hufflepuff table was now nearly as deserted as Gryffindor.

The Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, though, had more students. The Ravenclaws seemed determined to ignore the other houses, but Draco Malfoy and his thugs, Crabbe and Goyle, sneered at Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all during Monday dinner and wondered loudly who the Heir would attack next.

Ginny fumed. She wished all the Slytherins had run home to their parents, but that was probably too much to ask for, especially since they _liked_ the Heir. At least Daphne and Electra were gone for the holidays.

Tuesday was fun in a way her days hadn't been lately -- with nobody else around, and with no classes, her brothers relaxed and treated her like their sister instead of a pawn in a mysterious family war. Fred and George snagged Ron and Harry out of bed and called up the stairs to the girls' dorms, summoning Ginny and Hermione down to the common room where they played Exploding Snap for hours.

A house elf in an embroidered towel popped in at one point to deposit cocoa and biscuits near the fire, which Ron gleefully pounced on.

"We should go downstairs and eat lunch as well," said Hermione, looking up from her cards. "Eating nothing but sweets is awfully bad for your teeth."

"It's Christmas Eve, Hermione, give over," mumbled Ron around a mouthful of crumbs. He sat down in his squashy armchair and held the plate across the table. "Want any?"

"Oh, since it's Christmas..." Hermione seized a handful of chocolate biscuits and bit into one with an unconvincing air of resignation.

Ginny stifled a laugh, and noticed Harry doing the same. He grinned at her. She managed to smile back through her sudden blush, and drifted through the next half hour in a warm haze.

Later Hermione dragged Ron and Harry off to practice dueling, leaving the twins to plan jokes for next term. Ginny hung around for a while, enjoying the warm fire and soft cushions of her armchair, and offered to sneak any plants they needed out of the greenhouses. "Great!" said George. "Bring the plants and hang around to see what we do with them. You'll probably like watching us blow ourselves up."

"Or you could test things for us, and we could blow _you_ up," said Fred with an overly cheerful smile. Ginny kicked his shin, and he doubled over in theatrical pain. George winked at Ginny and patted his twin's shoulder solicitously.

By mid-afternoon, though, Ginny felt shut out of their conversation, and she left to wander the castle. Fred and George were funny, cheerful, and generally willing to make time for her -- when they weren't making her life miserable -- but nobody could quite get into their little circle of two. Charlie came closest, but even there it was more like a leader and two sidekicks instead of three equals.

Ginny missed Charlie. Since he'd gone to Romania and the dragons, she almost never saw him anymore. She'd grown up seeing him only during summers and holidays, since he was so much older and away at Hogwarts, but even that was more than a three-day visit once or twice a year.

She missed Bill, too, missed him more than Charlie. Charlie was the twins' big brother, but Bill belonged to her and Ron. He was a better listener than Charlie, and he knew how to solve puzzles, play games, and keep secrets. She hadn't seen him in even longer than Charlie.

"It isn't fair," Ginny said to herself. She slumped against a window in a deserted corridor and stared out at the snow-covered forest; the glass drained heat from her shoulder like the snow leached color from the grounds. One week ago Bill had unearthed a treasure trove in the Valley of Priests -- the magically hidden companion to the Valley of Kings and Valley of Queens -- and decided to use his percentage to invite the family to Egypt. Except by then Ginny, Ron, and the twins had convinced Percy to stay at Hogwarts in order to avoid Uncle Edward, Aunt Bernice, and Aunt Charlotte, and if they changed their minds then the aunts would know they'd only been staying to avoid them. The aunts always knew things like that, and not even seeing Bill on Boxing Day could make up for the aunts in a bad mood on Christmas.

If only Bill had found the treasure a few weeks earlier, or if Mum and Dad hadn't invited Uncle Edward and the aunts, they all could have been together in Egypt right now. Ginny sighed. It was wonderful being able to spend time with even three of her brothers -- Percy, as usual, was trying to have nothing to do with the rest of the family -- but she did miss Bill and Charlie.

...And it would have been nice to get away from the Heir, who couldn't possibly follow her to Egypt. She could have relaxed, teased her brothers, seen tombs and mummies, and let Tom out of the diary to see them with her. He'd never left Britain, after all, and Ginny was sure he'd be fascinated by Egyptian magic.

She headed for Gryffindor Tower to ask Tom if he knew anything about Egypt.

He did. In fact, Tom had studied Egyptian irrigation projects and water-magic for a History of Magic assignment, knew heaps of Egyptian curses -- _"marvelously indirect and self-perpetuating,"_ he called them -- and was very interested in the bits and pieces of dynastic lore Ginny had picked up from Bill over the past few years.

_"Did you know,"_ asked Tom, as he slouched mistily on the window seat of her dormitory, _"that the court wizards of Ancient Egypt were attempting to create spells of immortality and resurrection? They tried various ways to extend life, including linking souls to amorphous powers from beyond the veil -- this was couched in religious terms, as was most of their magic, leading to the creation of a god-cult around the pharaoh -- and began to create mummies so that they could revive their kings if and when they finally perfected their spells._

_"They found ways to trap souls on this plane, somewhat like ghosts, whether the souls in question would have normally become ghosts or not. The fragments that retained intelligence slept in their sarcophagi. The ones that became mindless revenants are the source of the bloodthirsty, shambling tomb guardians Muggles have incorporated into their myths."_

He smiled at Ginny's theatrical shiver. _"Remind me to tell you Muggle ghost stories some evening, Ginevra; I think you'd like them. But in any case, while those magics were powerful and dangerous, Egyptian theories are the basis of modern Pensieves and healing spells. They knew quite a lot about bodies and souls."_ Snow fell thick and white on the other side of the glass, dimly visible through Tom's misty body.

"Hmm," said Ginny from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, the diary open on her pillow. Had Tom based his diary spell on Egyptian magic? He was like a trapped soul... but that wasn't really important. "I guess it's good we got more from them than just mummies and lost treasure. So you know Muggle stories about Egypt?"

Tom laughed, and then waved his hands with a dramatic flourish. _"Myths and legends galore, Ginevra! The Egyptian wizards were fond of partial transfiguration and obscure codes, as well as attempts to defeat death, so their religion made use of an astonishing mess of symbols, which Muggles later elaborated in a number of strange directions. And while the director of the orphanage didn't believe in 'nonsense,' she did have a large store of Egyptian scholarship inherited from her predecessor."_ A brief look of distaste washed over his face and vanished.

Ginny tactfully ignored the orphanage comment; she didn't think it would be fair to make Tom remember unpleasant things on Christmas Eve. "That sounds like fairy-tales," she said. "Dad brought home a book of them, once -- a witch had enchanted the pictures to move, so he had to confiscate it -- and I talked him into letting me have it. They were always talking about magic and dragons and fairies, and it was all mixed up and wrong, but they were good stories anyway. Are your Egyptian stories like that?"

_"I suppose so,"_ said Tom, _"though these are designed to explain the natural and supernatural worlds rather than to amuse children."_

"Tell me one," said Ginny, inching forward.

_"Certainly. In fact, consider this my Christmas present to you, Ginevra, since I can't make or buy a more traditional one,"_ said Tom apologetically.

Ginny waved this off, and he smiled. _"Very well,"_ he said, pulling his feet up onto the window seat and crossing his legs. He closed his eyes -- hints of color had begun to swim into his misty form, and Ginny thought his eyes might be blue when he was finally solid -- and gestured as if he were opening a book. _"You dream about a princess, so I'll tell you a story about a queen. This is the legend of Isis and Osiris._

_"A long time ago, a pharaoh named Osiris ruled in Egypt. He was a strong and fair king, but his brother, Set, was jealous and wanted to rule in his place. He gathered wicked men and promised them riches if they would fight his brother. But Isis, Osiris' wife, was suspicious of Set, and she watched him so that he never had a chance to bring his servants into the palace._

_"Set was furious, but he was cunning. If he couldn't bring his army to Osiris, he thought, then he would bring Osiris to his army. He invited his brother to a feast in his house by the desert's edge. Osiris accepted, and despite Isis' warning, he traveled alone to Set's house._

_"Set's wicked servants dressed in fine linen, painted their eyes, and pretended to be lords and priests so Osiris didn't suspect any danger. Then Set announced that he had found a magnificent chest, decorated with gold and painted with brilliant colors like the tail of a peacock. He planned to give the chest away to whichever man could best fit into it, lying down."_

"Oh, that doesn't sound good," said Ginny. "I bet it was a trap."

_"Yes, it was,"_ said Tom, _"exactly as Isis had foreseen. But Osiris trusted Set. Several men lay down in the chest, but were either too short or too tall to fit. 'Let me try, brother!' said Osiris. He stepped into the chest and lay down. 'See,' he said, 'it fits me perfectly!'_

_"'I built it to fit you,' said Set, and he slammed the lid. He ignored his brother's shouts and cries while he nailed the lid shut, poured molten lead into the cracks, and ordered his men to toss the chest into the Nile. Then he traveled to Osiris' great palace and declared himself pharaoh."_

"I knew it!" said Ginny, slapping her pillow for emphasis. "What did Isis do? Did she fight Set?"

Tom shook his head. _"No, she didn't fight. Instead Isis went to find her husband's body, since she was a mistress of magic and hoped she could bring him back to life. Along the way, she gave birth to a son, Horus. She hid Horus so Set couldn't attack him, and continued on her way to find Osiris._

_"The chest, meanwhile, had floated down the Nile, out to sea, and all the way to the mouth of a river in the land of Syria, where a tree grew up around it. The tree's magic was so strong that when Isis finally reached Syria, she walked along the riverside and didn't know that her husband's body was next to her. It was a hot day, and the tree's wide branches were covered with thick green leaves and flowers that smelled like honey and citrus. She leaned against the tree to rest._

_"Then, of course, Isis felt the magic of the chest and knew that she had found Osiris. She cut the chest out of the tree and waded along the shore, dragging the chest through the water behind her, until she reached the city of Byblos. There she paid for a ship to take her back to Egypt._

_"That night, she took the chest into the ship's cabin, and, all alone, she opened the lid. Osiris' body was terrible to see -- scalded by molten lead, soaked with seawater, pierced with nails, and broken by his futile attempts to break out of his coffin before he died. But Isis refused to despair. The chest and the tree had preserved the body whole enough for her magic to work. She sprinkled potions on him, chanted spells, and brought him back to life._

_"Before returning to the great palace, Isis and Osiris stopped on the island where their son Horus was hidden. For a few days, they were very happy."_

Something else was going to go wrong; Ginny shivered in anticipation. Tom noticed, and broke his storyteller's pose long enough to wink at her before he continued.

_"While Isis and Osiris rested, Set went hunting along the Nile. He crossed the river to the island where Isis and her family were staying, and he peered through a stand of reeds and saw his brother, alive. Set was furious, but he was patient. He waited until Osiris went down to the river that evening, and he stabbed his brother from behind._

_"To ensure that Isis couldn't revive her husband a second time, Set chopped Osiris into fourteen pieces and scattered them into the Nile."_

"He cut his own brother to pieces?" interrupted Ginny. "Killing him is bad enough, but... eww."

_"It does seem rather barbaric,"_ agreed Tom. _"In any case, Set wanted to marry Isis to cement his rule, but Isis refused. She swore to bring back Osiris again or die trying. She hid Horus in a new place, took a small boat, and traveled down the Nile collecting the pieces of Osiris' body._

_"She found all the pieces except for his... er..."_ Tom looked awkward; Ginny wondered if she was only imagining the hint of pink in his cheeks or if he was really becoming solid enough to flush. _"Except for his manhood, shall we say, and stitched his body back together. Then she used her potions and spells to bring him to life a second time._

_"Unfortunately, because Osiris' body wasn't whole, the spells couldn't work perfectly, and he didn't completely come back to life. Instead, he traveled to the underworld, where he became king of the dead. Isis promised to join him, but first she helped Horus lead a rebellion, kill Set, and become the new pharaoh. She later became one of the most loved goddesses in Egypt -- in fact, her cult spread through the Roman Empire and wasn't displaced until the rise of Christianity. And there you are."_

Isis, decided Ginny, sounded dead cool.

"You know," she said slowly, "you're not cut up into pieces, but you're sort of dead. And if everything works out you'll be alive again. So you're sort of like Osiris."

Tom smiled. _"I suppose, though I hope I won't have to settle for a half-life as a ghost or a voice beyond the veil."_ His smile widened. _"In some versions of the legend, Isis is Osiris' sister as well as his wife. You've adopted me as your brother, Ginevra; does that make you Isis?"_

Ginny pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at Tom. "Not if I have to marry you, it doesn't! That's disgusting!"

He laughed and shifted the topic to her holiday Potions reading, much to Ginny's disgruntlement. "It's Christmas," she told him. "I should have to bother with work."

_"But won't it be satisfying to show up Snape by knowing your lessons ahead of time?"_ asked Tom, raising his eyebrows significantly.

Ginny allowed that surprising Snape might be good thing. And maybe she could figure out what the mysterious potion in Myrtle's bathroom was meant to do.

\---------------------------------------------

Christmas morning broke silently over Hogwarts, revealing a castle swathed in snow. Ginny woke at false dawn and couldn't get back to sleep; holiday excitement overpowered her tiredness. She had to forcibly restrain herself from rushing downstairs in search of the holiday stockings Mum used to tack up along the mantelpiece and stuff with sweets and silly yarn animals. Instead, she sneaked into the boys' tower.

She wanted to peek in on Harry and Ron, but she couldn't quite work up the nerve to open their door. Ginny sighed, and walked back down the stairs. Maybe the Sorting Hat _should_ have put her in Hufflepuff.

She crept into the twins' room instead, careful not to slip on the appalling clutter strewn over the floor, and opened the window. The wide sill was inches deep in snow -- Scotland had much more properly Christmassy weather than Ottery St. Catchpole -- and Ginny scooped up enough for two sloppy snowballs.

The snow landed squarely on Fred and George's faces, and Ginny grinned. You couldn't grow up with her brothers and not learn how to throw properly, even if it was only in self-defense. She made a mad dash for the door and slammed it shut just before two jets of hex-light could reach her. Then she turned the skeleton key she'd filched from George the other week, cast a locking charm for good measure, and fled for the girls' tower, taking refuge just around the bend that led to the first landing and the second years' room.

"Ginny! What the bloody hell was _that_ for?" one of the twins yelled up the stairs after her.

"Revenge!" she called back.

"Revenge? For what? Would we hurt our ickle baby sister?"

"Yes you would, and I'm not coming down!"

Hermione stuck her head out of her room, eyes still bleary with sleep. "Ginny, what on earth--?"

Ginny shrugged, feeling guilty for waking Hermione; they weren't exactly friends, but Hermione was nice enough when she wasn't bossy, and she'd given Ginny a tour of the library and the teachers' offices back in September. "I threw snowballs at the twins because they kept scaring me after Colin was Petrified. They're a bit annoyed."

"You realize this means war?" one of the twins called up the stairs.

"Make that very annoyed," muttered Ginny. She looked at Hermione. "Help?"

Hermione folded her arms over her nightdress and frowned. "You shouldn't push back; it only makes things worse."

"Yes, but nobody else was going to call them on it. They only stopped because Percy threatened to tell Mum!"

Hermione's frown deepened. "Oh, honestly. Percy has nothing to be ashamed of; you might learn a lot about responsibility from him, Ginny."

"We could get brooms and fly up there, you know!" one of the twins yelled.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Hermione. "Well?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, I suppose... we can't let them up here, after all. Stall them while I dress." She shut the door abruptly.

That was a bit rude, but Ginny figured Hermione had a right to be annoyed when yelling people woke her up unexpectedly. Ginny shrugged and amused herself by loudly retelling the story of the time when the twins decided to unlock the bathroom door and scare her in the shower -- it hadn't ended well for them.

"--and _then_ , while Fred still had his foot in the toilet, George finally noticed the shower curtain was loose and trying to strangle him -- he was so distracted it'd already wrapped around his neck three times--"

"Did that really happen?" asked Hermione

Ginny turned back to the doorway. "Yes, it really did. They got into heaps of trouble over it, and since it was my first accidental magic, Mum and Dad were so happy I proved I was a witch that they didn't even scold me for trying to strangle George and flush Fred down the toilet."

"Hmm." Hermione, now neatly dressed in a sweater and jeans, with a heavy bag slung over her shoulder, bit her lip. "I think I'm glad I'm from a Muggle family -- magic seems a bit dangerous around children."

"Not really, since we don't get wands until we start Hogwarts -- accidental magic is easier to clean up, Mum says. Although we did like to steal Dad's wand and send him to the office with just a polished stick." Ginny grinned. "That was always fun."

Hermione looked like she was trying not to smile. "In any case, we should deal with your brothers. They aren't angry with me, so I'll go first and you can slip out while I distract them."

"Really? Thanks! Er, if you can keep them talking for five minutes, I can bring down their Christmas presents and that should work for a truce."

"Bribery is a low and shameful tactic," said Hermione, with a sniff, but Ginny could tell she was putting it on.

"Yes, of course. Thanks, Hermione!"

As Hermione set off down the stairs, Ginny dashed away to put her bathrobe on over her nightdress and gather her Christmas presents. Over the summer Mum had taught her to knit, and Ginny had managed to make somewhat straggly scarves to go along with the jumpers Mum always handed round at Christmas. She pulled out the green one she'd made for Harry, and looked at it. She wanted to give him a present -- he deserved one, and if he thanked her... but he'd probably just laugh at her. Or he'd realize that she liked him, and then she'd have to die of embarrassment.

No, she couldn't give Harry a scarf. It would be worse than sticking her elbow in the butter dish, worse than always turning red when he looked at her, and even worse than when the twins called them "lovebirds." Ginny stuffed the scarf back into her trunk.

Besides, she told herself, if she gave Harry a present, she ought to give Hermione one as well, especially since Hermione had been so nice just now. Since she didn't have a gift for Hermione, obviously she couldn't give Harry anything. She'd have to stick to family only. Or she could give the scarf to Xanthe, in return for the bottles of sparkling green ink Xanthe had bought for her. Yes, that would work -- especially if she charmed the scarf violet. Xanthe liked violet.

Ginny lifted her four squashy packages, wrapped with Spellotape and inexpertly transfigured newspaper, and hurried down to the common room to make peace with Fred and George.

The scarves were well received, all things considered. Percy would probably try to get out of wearing his, but Ginny thought she could shame him into it -- if he was so concerned over _her_ health, he shouldn't neglect his own, after all! The twins promptly did something to straighten and stiffen their scarves, and held a mock swordfight up and down the boys' staircase and out through the portrait hole. Ron blinked, mumbled something about how she didn't need to go to all that bother, and shoved a box of chocolates at her. Then he hurried back to Harry and Hermione.

Ginny tossed the box on her bed and sighed. _Chocolates_. Ron wasn't much use at picking gifts, but he usually did better than this -- chocolates were what you bought Uncle Edward when he brought his newest bird-brained witch around for the holidays. Chocolates meant you couldn't think of anything interesting. Chocolates meant you didn't care enough to look for a real present. Bill had explained that to her and Ron when she was _five_.

She was Ron's sister. She used to be his best friend, too. Obviously now Harry and Hermione took that place, but he didn't have to treat her like wallpaper.

_Boys_. Stupid, toad-licking idiots, all of them. Especially her brothers.

Ginny took her new Exploding Snap cards -- Fred's present, to match George's book of sleight-of-hand card tricks -- and headed for the library to talk with Tom.

Several hours later, while they were finalizing plans to use Tom as a spy the next time Ginny played any games with the twins -- she was sure she could win at least a Galleon off them before they twigged on -- Percy strode in and coughed loudly. Ginny shoved the diary into her bag and looked up.

She snickered.

"What?" said Percy, irritably. "You're the third person who's done that this hour -- do I have something on my face?"

"Noooo..." Nothing was wrong with his _face_ , after all, and if nobody else had told Percy that his Prefect badge now read "Pinhead," Ginny wasn't about to spoil the joke.

"Hmph. What are you doing in the library? I thought I told you not to hide while the Heir is still at large -- you can't take such a cavalier attitude toward your own health and safety, Ginny. You aren't acting like yourself lately, and you're still too pale -- I worry about you -- but we'll discuss that later. Christmas dinner is ready."

"Christmas dinner?" Ginny swallowed her irritation and stuffed her cards into her bag. "What are we waiting for?"

The house elves and teachers had outdone themselves with decorations -- the Great Hall looked magnificent. A dozen pine trees, covered with frost and icicles, lined the outer walls, while thick garlands of holly and mistletoe crisscrossed the ceiling in complicated patterns. To top it off, enchanted snow, warm and dry, sifted down from the clouds that wandered across the painted ceiling. It reminded Ginny of the Snow Queen's palace in her old book of Muggle fairy-tales, except much more cozy and welcoming.

Dumbledore led everyone through a few carols before they started eating. Ginny was grateful that this time he didn't try to make people choose different tunes; that was bad enough with the school song, but it would be even worse with carols because you knew how they were meant to sound. Then they tucked in, and the food was wonderful -- except someone had clearly made the eggnog a bit too strong, since Hagrid got visibly drunk after only four goblets. Ginny nudged George with her elbow. "Who spiked the drinks?"

George grinned and tipped an imaginary hat. "Who do you think?"

Of course. "You charmed Percy's badge too, didn't you."

George attempted to look innocent. Despite years of practice, he wasn't particularly convincing -- or maybe Ginny was just too used to reading his face. "You know," she said, feeling magnanimous, "if he tells Mum, she'll probably send another Howler. She takes Prefects awfully seriously."

George blanched. "Oh, right. We'll change it back once dinner's over -- one Howler per year is more than enough for one family."

Ginny nodded and turned her attention back to her plate -- the Christmas pudding wasn't quite as good as Mum's, but it came close. She was working through her second helping when she noticed Hermione leading Ron and Harry away from the table and toward the door. Ginny narrowed her eyes. Something had to be up; Ron would never leave Christmas dinner early if he didn't have an adventure planned. And he was leaving her out, again.

Ginny excused herself from the table, but by the time she reached the door there was no sign of Ron and the others. They weren't in the common room either, or the library. Ginny frowned as she headed toward Myrtle's bathroom, a touch out of breath from running over the castle. Were they going to use that mysterious potion? But the bathroom was deserted and the potion glooped quietly to itself just like it had done for days now. Everything seemed calm.

"Toad guts," muttered Ginny, waving to Sir Vladislav as she shut Myrtle's door. She knew something was going on -- she could _feel_ it -- but unless she got lucky the way she'd done on Halloween, she'd never know what. Judging by the way he'd ignored her all year, Ron wasn't about to tell her. Hermione didn't know her well enough to share any secrets. And Harry... Ginny flushed. She'd never in a million years work up the nerve to ask him.

She sighed and headed back to the library to talk with Tom.

Percy dragged her off again for Christmas tea -- though he couldn't lecture her since she'd been careful to sit within sight of Madam Pince and a trio of Ravenclaws -- and Ginny, feeling miffed, retreated to Gryffindor Tower as soon as possible. She flopped down on her bed and poked at Ron's box of chocolates.

Well, she'd left before eating any dessert -- she wasn't fond of trifle anyhow -- so she might as well get some use out of Ron's inconsideration. Maybe he'd remembered she liked chocolates with cherry liqueur centers and didn't like the ones with nuts. Ginny peeled off the Spellotape and opened the box.

Oh.

It wasn't chocolates.

Ginny pulled the thin book from its nest of torn newspaper and examined the cover. _Garden Legends_ , by Gladys Green, a collection of wizarding and Muggle superstitions about gardens and plants, with explanations of their origins and full-color illustrations. She'd seen it in Flourish and Blotts this summer and tried to talk Mum into buying it -- she'd wanted a bribe to keep her mouth shut while Mum made an idiot of herself over Lockhart -- but even threatening to make a scene hadn't worked. She'd complained about that to Horace, the family ghoul, when Mum sent her up to fetch the Hogwarts trunks from the attic, but she hadn't told Ron. He must have overheard her -- or he'd figured out on his own that she'd like this book.

Either way, Ginny felt ashamed. She should've known Ron cared enough to buy her something better than chocolates. She should've known he was also stupid enough to reuse an old box and forget to wrap it. Maybe they weren't best friends anymore, but Ron was still her favorite brother and he knew her better than anyone, even better than Tom. She ought to remember that more often.

Two hours later, Ginny looked up from her new book as the portrait hole creaked open and Ron and Harry climbed through. They looked worn out, rumpled, and worried -- and Hermione wasn't with them.

"Ron? You're a mess -- what's wrong?" asked Ginny, marking her place in the book and walking over to them. "Where's Hermione?"

Ron and Harry exchanged a look; Ginny could see them deciding how much to tell her and what to leave out. "She, er, she's in hospital," said Ron eventually. "She botched a potion and kind of turned halfway into a cat -- pointy ears, tail, fur all over her face, things like that. She'll be stuck there for a few weeks."

"Oh." Botched a _potion?_ Like the potion in Myrtle's bathroom, with the waterproof blue fire underneath the cauldron? "Er... does it hurt? Can I visit her?" She did sort of like Hermione, after all, and it was always nice to know that people cared about you.

Harry shrugged; his overly large robe slipped off his left shoulder and he shoved the fabric back up with a frown. "She's all right -- just embarrassed. Madam Pomfrey says it's not contagious, so we'll visit her tomorrow. You can come too."

"Just don't laugh at her -- she got really upset when Myrtle teased her about the tail -- threatened to hex me if I tried to scratch her ears. I bet it hurts to rub the fur the wrong way or lie on the tail," said Ron, grinning weakly. "Go on, Harry. I haven't talked to Ginny in ages."

Ginny frowned as Harry trudged toward the boys' dormitories. Why did Ron want to get her alone? "Yeah, I bet you're right -- remember when the twins caught us sneaking through their room? If it hurts to press down on rabbit ears, ears _and_ a tail must be worse."

Ron pulled a face. "Too bloody right, that hurt. And Mum didn't even yell at them, just said it was our own fault for snooping." He frowned suddenly. "Okay, Ginny, I didn't want to say this in front of Harry -- I know you like him -- but whatever you're plotting, stop it. Yeah, we were mucking around with a potion we shouldn't've been, but it was for a good reason. Don't you go poking around too. It's dangerous."

Ginny scowled -- Ron did know her better than anyone, when he paid attention, and there were times she wished he didn't. Liking Harry was private. "Isn't it dangerous for you too?"

"Well, yeah. People turning to statues, dead roosters all over the place, hexed Bludgers -- it'd be hard to miss that! But the Heir's obviously out to get Harry, and everyone already thinks _we're_ evil or something -- bloody stupid, if you ask me -- the Heir of _Slytherin_ in _Gryffindor?_ \-- but you don't need to get noticed. Nobody's bothered Percy or the twins," said Ron, "and Mum would kill me if I dragged you into this."

"She'd kill you anyway for going around yourself!" said Ginny. "I could tell her."

"Ginny!"

She brandished her new book at her brother. "I'm not going to tattle, but I know you're up to something and I'm going to figure it out! Oh. And thanks for the book -- I really like it."

Ron flushed. "I kind of heard you talking to Horace, and I was ordering books for Harry and Hermione already, so it wasn't any trouble. Er, I like the scarf. But d'you mind if I charm it a different color? You know I hate maroon."

"Go ahead -- it's only maroon because I was using Mum's yarn." Ginny clenched her hand on the book's spine, debated, and then threw her arms around Ron. He didn't move for a second -- her heart sank -- and then he grinned and mussed her hair the way he used to. Ginny squeaked, thumped him on his shoulder, and tried to comb her hair with her fingers.

"Ron! You're such a toad-licker!" She tucked her tangled hair behind her ears and looked down at the carpet; the gold embroidery picked out lions, eagles, and dragons hidden in swirls of scarlet. She shifted her feet. "Erm. If I promise to keep out of your sneaking around, will you talk to me more often?"

Ron sighed. "I'm not trying to ignore you -- I just have friends, and you're always writing in that diary of yours or off in the bloody library. Why don't you hang around the common room more? We could play chess, or cards. I bet Hermione would love to help you study -- she's always on about revising and stuff."

Ginny smiled. "That would be nice. And, about cards... Fred and George got me a new deck and a book of card tricks for Christmas. We can learn together, and then beat the pants off them."

A slow, wicked grin spread over Ron's face. "Beat the twins at cards? For money, right?" Ginny nodded, and his grin widened. "I _like_ it. It's a deal." He held out his hand; Ginny punched his palm before grabbing hold and shaking. "So, er, Merry Christmas."

"Yeah. Merry Christmas, Ron."

Sometimes it was good to have brothers.

\---------------------------------------------

The rest of the holidays passed without further incident, if you didn't count the twins' outrage when they realized Ron and Ginny had won nearly two whole Galleons off them in one afternoon of Exploding Snap, and Ginny hoped the other students had calmed down away from Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Hermione's mysterious absence raised the tension to new heights -- quietly, once people realized she wasn't actually Petrified -- but as Susan said after their first Flying lesson of the spring term, if one of Harry's best friends wasn't safe, who was?

"But it wasn't the Heir," protested Ginny as she pulled the diary and her Transfiguration book off her bed and slid them into her bag. "She was just trying to get ahead in Potions and mucked something up."

Susan shrugged and hung her snow-covered coat over a bedpost. "It's still suspicious. And why do you care what I think? I thought you weren't speaking to me."

Ginny scowled and stalked off to the library to meet Xanthe. She felt like she was living at the bottom of a lake with water weighting her down, slowing her movements, distorting her words, and blocking out the light. The worst part was that nobody else seemed to realize how many things didn't match up in any theory of Harry's guilt -- nobody except Xanthe. Well, and Apple, but Apple was a stuck-up, toad-licking, traitorous cow, and didn't count.

Ginny pasted a smile on her face as she entered the library and determinedly stopped thinking about the Heir and the general stupidity of people. She was here to study with one of her only two real friends, and she wasn't going to spoil it by snapping at Xanthe.

"Hi, Ginny!" said Xanthe in a loud stage whisper. Madam Pince looked over from her painfully tidy desk and sniffed, but she didn't scold. The librarian didn't approve of loud conversation, but she had a tiny soft spot for children who bothered to spend time among her books and who asked her advice instead of charging into the stacks and pulling books at random.

Ginny nodded to Madam Pince and slipped into a chair next to Xanthe. "Herbology first, or Astronomy?" she asked as she set her bag on the worn oak table.

Xanthe shrugged. "Whichever. It isn't as if we have anything to catch up on, you know. _I'd_ rather hear about what happened to Hermione Granger -- you wouldn't _believe_ the rumors in Hufflepuff. As if Harry Potter would try to kill his best friend! Even if she is Muggle-born, that's the silliest thing I ever heard of. Who would turn on his friends like that?"

"It wasn't Harry and it wasn't the Heir," said Ginny firmly. "She botched a potion, turned partway into a cat, and is in hospital until Madam Pomfrey can turn her all the way back."

"That's all? How boring," said Xanthe. "You know, I never thought it would be so tricky to undo magic. You'd think if it took just one potion to change, it should only take one to change back, assuming you can change back at all."

"Oh, I know this!" said Ginny, grinning. "Mum explained once when the twins grew Percy's nose out a foot long and didn't know how to shrink it. See, the first change throws your internal magic off-balance, so any further changes are harder since you're trying to affect a messed-up system instead of a normal one. If you're not careful, you really could get stuck forever."

Xanthe tilted her head, hummed briefly, and nodded. "I can see that. That makes a lot of sense, actually." Then she grinned. "Say, if you can understand _that_ , why can't you understand other theoretical things? Like Astronomy?"

Ginny flicked her quill at Xanthe's face and unrolled her Astronomy notes. "Maybe if you explain, retrograde motion will make sense."

Xanthe pulled out her own quill and a somewhat crumpled sheet of parchment, and started sketching orbital diagrams. "It's really very simple--"

Two hours later, Ginny finally had a decent mental picture of planetary motion, Xanthe was prepared for Tuesday's Herbology practical, and Ginny was in a much better mood. She was also starting to wonder why Xanthe was so cheerful -- most students were looking over their shoulders and muttering darkly to each other, but Xanthe didn't seem worried at all.

That was odd, especially since there were times when she seemed awfully unfamiliar with magic. She'd been surprised at the self-propelling boats that brought them across the lake, Ginny remembered, and now she had no experience with magical accidents like Hermione's. Xanthe acted like she was Muggle-born, but she wasn't afraid of the Heir.

Did she know something she wasn't telling?

"Hey, Ginny. Earth to Ginny."

Ginny blinked and looked up from her parchment. "Yes?"

"You looked like you were thinking deep thoughts. Is something going on?"

"Er, not really. I was just wondering..."

Xanthe kicked her heels impatiently against the chair legs. "Yes? Wondering what?"

Ginny fumbled for words. "I was wondering why you aren't afraid of being attacked," she said after a few seconds. "All the Gryffindors are running around like headless chickens, whether they're Muggle-born or not. And, well, you seem surprised by magic sometimes, so I was curious."

Xanthe grinned. "Aha. You know, I _told_ my mother someone would notice eventually, no matter how hard I tried to watch my reactions. I'm not Muggle-born, but I'm sort of a halfblood. My dad's a Squib, see -- Papa Miguel's a wizard but Nana's a Muggle -- and Dad's an insurance claims adjuster, so we have to look normal for any Muggles that drop by. That's why I'm not used to much magic. But my mother's a Winterbourne and I know Grandfather would be furious with the Ministry if anything happened to me, so I'm not worried."

"Your mother's a Winterbourne?" asked Ginny, astonished. "And she married a halfblood Squib, and your grandfather still talks to her?" She knew a little about the older pureblood families -- she was related to most of them some way or other, after all -- and the Winterbournes were some of the most blood-conscious around.

Xanthe grinned again, wider this time. "Oh, Grandfather nearly dropped dead of shock, he says, but he decided keeping his daughter was a bit more important than keeping his blood. My Aunt Psyche doesn't mind at all -- but then, she's _always_ been odd. Uncle Archimedes doesn't talk to us, though, and none of the cousins have much to do with us." She paused. "Electra Summers is my second cousin, you know."

Ginny gaped, trying to reconcile Xanthe and Electra in her mind. She couldn't manage it.

"I _knew_ you'd do that!" said Xanthe, grin stretching still wider across her face. "Yes, we're cousins, but I think I met her twice in my life before this year. Her whole side of the family is death on mixed marriages -- it's because of my Great-Aunt Rose and a halfblood Slytherin she knew back before Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald."

Ginny froze. A halfblood Slytherin and a Winterbourne girl named Rose, fifty years ago? Could that be Tom?

"I'm boring you to tears, aren't I?" said Xanthe. "I keep telling you to shut me up when I go on like this, you know -- I don't mind, really."

"No, I was listening," said Ginny quickly. "I like hearing family stories -- my parents don't usually have time to tell us any. What happened to your Great-Aunt?"

" _Well_ ," said Xanthe, propping her chin on her intertwined fingers, "my Great-Aunt Rose was in Hogwarts during the Second World War and the Grindelwald War. She was in Ravenclaw, like most of my family, and she was supposed to watch for potential matches -- to keep the family line pure, you know. But a halfblood Slytherin boy asked her out, and she said yes. He was handsome, you see, and he _fascinated_ her. She didn't see the point of all that blood nonsense. But her parents wouldn't stand for it -- he was an orphan, a halfblood, raised by Muggles -- what could he bring to the family? They told her to break it off or they'd disown her."

Xanthe paused. "This is where it gets disturbing," she said. "Are you sure you're not bored?"

"Go on," said Ginny. She wasn't certain she wanted to hear how the story ended, but she was about as far from bored as she'd ever been in her life.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," said Xanthe. "Great-Aunt Rose's parents pressed until she finally met the halfblood boy one last time, in a storage room down an empty corridor in the dungeons -- you know, the sort of place you meet when you don't want other people to interrupt. She told the boy that she loved him but she couldn't see him anymore, that her parents wouldn't let her. She expected him to be angry, but he wasn't. He just locked the door and said that she was _his_ \-- like he owned her! -- and he'd kill her if she left."

Ginny stared blankly at her parchment. That couldn't be right. Tom wouldn't do that.

"He was using her to get accepted by the purebloods, you see. Well, she managed to hex him and run to the Great Hall before he could do anything but make threats. She asked Professor Dumbledore for help, but she had no proof -- she'd got away, after all -- and most of the other teachers liked the boy, so everything was hushed up." Xanthe shivered, and her voice trembled a bit as she continued. "I've always wondered if he tried the same thing again, only the next girl, well, wasn't so lucky.

"The boy stayed away from her, but Great-Aunt Rose never got over that. She thought all Muggle-borns and halfbloods hated purebloods and just wanted to use them to move up in society." Xanthe sighed. "It's a pity one nutcase turned her against a lot of nice people. She would've _hated_ my dad and Nana, you know. If the Death Eaters hadn't killed her, I bet she would've disowned my mother -- and my mother always liked her."

"That's awful," said Ginny numbly. She couldn't think; her mind was heavy and cold. Xanthe's story matched Tom's on the key points -- Rose, Tom, pureblood pride, and a broken relationship -- but disagreed on everything else. Somebody had to be lying, but who? Tom or Xanthe?

Xanthe had no reason to lie.

Did Tom?

\---------------------------------------------

Somehow Ginny excused herself without Xanthe catching on to her distraction. Her first impulse was to run to Tom and ask him what to think -- but that was no good. If he was lying, she couldn't trust what he'd tell her. She had to think this through on her own. She had to be calm. She had to be logical. She had to talk to Tom--

No! Ginny snatched her hand out of her bag; she'd almost pulled out the diary anyhow, even after she'd decided not to open it.

That didn't make sense. Something was very wrong about that. She'd have to ask Tom--

Ginny shook her head. What was going _on?_ Probably this was just a mistake -- Rose had made up a nice story so she wouldn't look nasty to her family -- but surprise shouldn't make it this hard for her to think straight, should it? Why was it so hard to think this through on her own, without asking Tom's advice?

She found her hand wrapped around a brass doorknob, and blinked in confusion. Myrtle's bathroom again? Why did she keep coming back here, especially when she wasn't paying attention? Had the Heir hexed her on Halloween?

Ginny shivered at the memory of that night. Red paint all over her hands, all down the front of her nightdress, no idea where she'd been--

Wait.

Absently, she crossed the corridor and slumped to the floor at the base of Sir Vladislav's pedestal. She'd had red paint down her front. But that made no sense. If she'd huddled against the wall to avoid the Heir, she should've had paint on her back. And the words should've been smudged. Ginny glanced back at the ominous message -- no, while the letters were a bit runny, they hadn't been rubbed against; she could see the bristle marks of the paintbrush in some of the strokes, little lines and ridges of red still clear after more than two months.

Maybe the paint can had spilled and she'd fallen into it.

But there wouldn't have been time to clean that up, would there? And if the Heir had cleaned a paint spill, wouldn't he have cleaned the puddle of water too?

Why hadn't she noticed that when Tom explained things to her?

Something was very wrong.

Sir Vladislav leaned down in a creak and clash of leather and metal, pulling Ginny's attention away from her thoughts. She wasn't quite certain how an enchanted suit of armor could look concerned, but somehow Sir Vladislav managed.

"I'm sorry, Sir Vladislav," she said. "I just learned something confusing and I'm trying to sort it out. Is it all right if I stay here for a while?"

Sir Vladislav nodded, then gestured to his chest-plate and tilted his helmet in inquiry.

Ginny shook her head. "Thanks, but I'll be all right -- I need to work it out on my own. Just... warn me if anyone comes along the corridor? Please?"

Sir Vladislav saluted and resumed his guard position. Ginny moved around his pedestal until she was tucked into the alcove, well out of sight unless someone was specifically looking for her. She laid the diary flat on the floor in front of her feet and stared at it. Something wasn't right and somebody was lying. How could she figure out who to trust?

Ginny drummed her fingers against the stone tiles of the floor. She'd have to think logically, the way she wished people would do when they decided Harry was the Heir. Logic wasn't easy -- it assumed things were neat and orderly, and magic was rarely tidy -- but if she could catalogue potions reactions, she could figure this out. She _had_ to.

If Xanthe was lying or misled, then Tom was telling the truth. But that didn't explain the paint down the front of Ginny's nightdress. And it didn't explain anything about the Heir, or the way Ginny's feet kept leading her to Myrtle's bathroom.

What if Tom was lying? Well, if he lied about Rose, maybe he lied about other things, which would explain why the paint was on the wrong side of her nightdress. But why would he lie? He was her friend! He helped her! He wouldn't -- _couldn't_ \-- threaten to kill anyone.

Could he?

Ginny shook her head and refused to think about that. "Logic," she muttered. "Figure it out and worry about other things _after_." It wasn't a natural way to think, but she could do it. She had to.

Okay. If Tom lied about Rose and lied about the paint, then maybe Ginny hadn't actually seen the Heir? No. That didn't work. But what was she doing with paint on her hands...?

Ginny twisted her fingers into her hair, trying not to panic or open the diary. What if... what if _she_ was the Heir? What if _she'd_ painted that message? Ron said someone was killing roosters, and she'd woken up with feathers in her hair and nightdress. She'd known Colin was going to visit Harry. She couldn't remember where she'd been when Justin Finch-Fletchley was attacked!

Oh God, what if everything was her fault?

But that didn't make any sense either! How could she plan things like that without knowing what she was doing? How could she be sneaky while she was sleepwalking, or blanked out? She dreamed about a princess and a dragon, not about being evil and attacking...

Wait.

Ginny tugged harder on her hair. _Tom_ was the one who explained her dreams. Tom was the one who made everything sound normal. And Tom might be lying.

She had to ask him. She couldn't figure this out on her own, with only Xanthe's story as evidence. But she couldn't tell him everything -- he could just lie again, if he was already lying. She'd have to be sneaky.

Well, Ginny decided, she could be sneaky. You couldn't live with the twins and _not_ learn how to be at least a little sneaky, not if you wanted to keep yourself safe.

She looked up and said, "Sir Vladislav? I have a friend who's trapped in a diary. I can talk to him and he can talk to me, but he looks like a ghost and so far nobody else can see or hear him. I need to ask him some questions. Will you make sure nobody interrupts?"

Sir Vladislav pointed his sword at the diary and shook his helmet gravely, but he waved up and down the corridor and saluted again.

"Yes, I know there might be something wrong with Tom. That's what I need to ask him about," said Ginny.

Sir Vladislav nodded and turned back to face Myrtle's bathroom.

Ginny raked her fingers through her hair, trying to make herself look less upset... and then changed her mind. Upset was good. Upset was sneaky. She rumpled her robes, smudged a bit of ink on her cheek, and pasted her best poor-little-Ginny expression onto her face, the one she used to convince Mum that the twins were picking on her.

Maybe this was all a giant mistake, but she had to be sure.

Ginny opened the diary.

\---------------------------------------------

_"Ginevra, is something wrong?"_

Ginny bit her lip as Tom coalesced out of the pages. He didn't look like he was lying. He didn't sound like he was only pretending to be her friend. But then, she'd thought Daphne was nice at first, and she'd been completely wrong about that. She had to be sure.

She ducked her head and watched him through the curtain of her hair. "Tom, I'm scared. I've been thinking about why I keep meeting the Heir, but he hasn't Petrified me, and I just noticed that I was always sleepwalking or blacked out for the attacks. Ron says someone's been killing roosters and I woke up with chicken feathers in my bed. I knew Colin would be out at night, because I told him to visit Harry. And on Halloween, I had paint on my _hands_ , not down my back!"

Her voice was going higher, her breath was shallow, and Ginny realized that she wasn't faking all of this. "Percy's starting to follow me around and ask why I'm always disappearing. He says he's just worried that I'm pale, but he said I'm not myself. I think he suspects me! And..." -- Ginny wrung her hands -- "...and what if he's _right?_ What if the Heir's possessing me? Or... or what if it's _me?_ "

Tom went still for a second, expressionless, and then concern washed over his face. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and brushed her hair out of her eyes. His fingers felt like feathers wrapped in cobwebs, light and vaguely unnatural, as if bits of him were sticking to her skin and tying them together. _"Ginevra, please calm yourself. Take a deep breath, slowly."_ Ginny complied, wondering about that moment of blankness. Surprise? Or was it guilt?

_"Good,"_ continued Tom. _"And another breath. And another. Yes, like that. Do you feel better now?"_

Ginny nodded. "I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't mean to panic."

Tom smiled at her, and she couldn't help smiling back. _"Don't worry. I might well have panicked, were I in your place. You're quite right, though -- the placement of the paint IS worrying, as is the way you can't remember any of your encounters with the Heir. But I doubt that you've developed the ability to Petrify people -- it's highly advanced magic -- and I further doubt that you'd use that ability even if you did possess it."_

"You're right," said Ginny. "Thanks, Tom. But what if the Heir hexed me, or what if he's trying to use me? Do you know any spells to stop that?"

Tom shrugged. _"Not offhand, but I'm certain we could find something in the library. Shall we begin searching today?"_

"Yes, please! I don't want the Heir controlling me!"

_"Neither do I, Ginevra. I hope we can find a solution quickly; I wouldn't want anyone to be at the Heir's mercy, let alone my friend."_

But... was Tom really her friend? The more Ginny thought about it, the more plausible her fears seemed. She hadn't had strange dreams until she'd found the diary. Tom explained everything so she stopped trying to figure out what was going on. Tom knew strange, dark spells, like Serpensortia and that binding ritual.

She took a deep breath and tried a new tack. "I know you wouldn't let anything happen to me, Tom," she said. "You're my best friend, and I trust you! I'm not like that horrible Rose girl."

Tom sighed. _"Ah, Rose. Yes, you're nothing like Rose Winterbourne, Ginevra, for which I'm very grateful."_

Ginny froze. Rose Winterbourne. Tom's Rose was Xanthe's great-aunt. Tom had threatened to kill a girl, and she'd trusted him for months!

After several seconds, she noticed Tom's hand resting on her shoulder again. _"Ginevra? Breathe, please. Have you thought of something else?"_

Ginny shook off his hand. "Yes. I have. Tom, did you know that Xanthe Delaflor, who helps me with Astronomy, is a Winterbourne? She told me about her Great-Aunt Rose, and about the halfblood Slytherin boy who tried to kill her.

_"How--"_

Tom cut himself off. Then, mildly, sadly, he said, _"I had always wondered what excuses Rose told her friends,"_ but Ginny had heard the anger in his voice and seen the flash of red in his misty eyes, and that was all the proof she needed.

"You," she said, "are a liar." Her voice sounded oddly flat and steady, even though her heart was racing and her body felt limp and weak with fear. A strange rushing noise filled her ears.

"You've been lying to me since September," she continued. "Every time I dreamed I met the Heir, I bet it was you -- you were making me do things. And you tricked me into doing that spell, and now you're turning real and you're going to get out and you're going to _kill_ people! You're the Heir! You're making me hurt people and it's all your fault and _I HATE YOU!_ "

Behind her, Sir Vladislav shifted his sword in his scabbard with a warning scrape of steel on steel. Tom ignored the suit of armor. He simply watched Ginny with a strange, detached expression, until she stopped panting from her outburst. Ginny wanted to run away, but she was a Gryffindor. She was supposed to be brave. She pressed her hands against Sir Vladislav's pedestal to keep them from shaking, and silently dared him to contradict her.

In a secret place in her heart, she hoped he would. She hoped he could prove that everything was a mistake. She wanted him to be her friend.

She knew that wasn't going to happen.

_"I suppose the game is up, for now,"_ said Tom, still wearing that detached expression. _"You've decided to hate me instead of helping me, so you've become an obstacle. Pity. I do rather like you, Ginevra; you're a silly little girl, but you have more potential than most."_

Ginny glared, anger beginning to swallow her fear. "You like me? You _possessed_ me! You _lied_ to me! You've been turning people to stone!"

Tom smiled -- it was the same smile as before, with the same hints of shared secrets and unbreakable bonds. But now Ginny knew what was behind it, and it was horrible. He was evil, and he was _happy_ about it. _"I don't deny the first two accusations, but as to the third... consider your own guilt, Ginevra. I'm nothing more than a memory -- a ghost, if you will, a fragment of a soul. I can't affect the material world. I can't cast spells._

_"I haven't Petrified anyone, Ginevra,"_ said Tom. _"YOU have."_

Ginny punched him. Her fist glanced off his feather-light body, and she crashed into the alcove wall without doing the slightest damage to him. He was like a ghost.

"I didn't!" she yelled. "It was you!"

Tom smiled, and now his lips held a mocking twist. _"Oh, no. Percy was quite right to suspect you, Ginevra. You put far too much faith in my power; I can't do anything that YOU don't agree to do. I only supply the Basilisk. YOU supply the victims."_

"But I don't!" shouted Ginny. "I _didn't_."

Tom slipped his arm around her shoulder. _"It's best not to deny these things, Ginevra. I recall telling you that you were far too kind to attack a cat. For your conscious mind this may even be true. Your subconscious, however, is far more vicious. The first attack on Mrs. Norris was an accident -- I admit that -- but the subsequent targeting of Harry Potter's enemies? Sheer brilliance. Nobody would ever suspect you when he makes such an obvious scapegoat. I rather admire your hidden self; you could be quite fascinating if you released that potential."_

"I'm going to be expelled!" wailed Ginny, trying once again to punch the smirk off Tom's face. "It's all your fault, and everyone will hate me, and I'm going to be expelled!"

Tom lazily fended her off. _"I believe we went over this already. I merely supply the means for your actions; I'm hardly at fault. The last time I entered the Chamber of Secrets was in 1942, and a girl died because of it. I wonder: how far are YOU willing to go?"_

"I _hate_ you!" Ginny shouted again, and lunged forward. As Tom drifted out of range, she stumbled over the open diary.

The diary!

Ginny picked up the book and felt a dark thrill of satisfaction at Tom's furious snarl. "I'm _not_ evil," she said, "but I can get rid of you."

She slammed the diary shut. Tom lunged forward, hands outstretched, but he thinned to smoke, wavering on the edge of visibility. And then he was gone.

Ginny leaned against Sir Vladislav's pedestal and cried.

\---------------------------------------------

She missed dinner.

She couldn't face anybody, not when it was her fault that people were Petrified. Maybe Tom was right and she was the one who picked the victims, and maybe he was lying about that too, but he'd still used her body. He'd used her body and told her nothing was wrong, and she'd _believed_ him.

Harry would have noticed something was wrong. Harry wouldn't have let Tom push him into doing things. Harry was a hero.

All Ginny felt like was scum.

She asked Sir Vladislav not to tell anybody about Tom. Whatever he'd done was her fault, and it was her job to fix things. In return, she promised Sir Vladislav to come back the next day so he could be certain she was all right. It was nice that somebody cared, even if it was only a suit of enchanted armor, but she had no idea what to do until then.

Colin was in hospital because of her. He was a twit, but she'd sent him out alone at night when she knew someone was going around Petrifying people. Then she'd told Tom. And then she'd attacked him.

It was all her fault. She was a dirty, pathetic, toad-licking, idiotic piece of _scum_.

Ginny wandered aimlessly through Hogwarts -- up staircases, along narrow corridors, through dusty and disused rooms, out onto precarious, windswept balconies, into and out of a peculiar labyrinth laid out in colored tiles, down through dungeons and windowless halls where her footsteps echoed like distant thunder, up to tower tops and wide, ice-crusted windows that leached heat from her bones when she leaned against them, and back to start over again. She was never sure, later, exactly where some of those rooms were located in relation to the rest of the castle, and she couldn't even begin to retrace her steps.

Now and again she spotted other students down corridors, and turned aside to avoid them. Percy would be furious, but Percy thought she might be ill or in danger. He didn't realize that she was the danger.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Percy popped out of a storage room in the Charms corridor just as Ginny turned the corner. He was whistling, and smiling like he hadn't done for years -- properly, without worrying about how he looked or whether it was an appropriate time to smile. His hair was mussed and his shirt collar was crooked.

He stopped abruptly when he saw Ginny. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Erm," said Percy.

"I'll go," said Ginny, and turned.

Percy rushed forward and grabbed her shoulder. "Wait! What are you doing here? I've told you and told you not to wander around alone -- it isn't safe. Are you sure you're feeling all right? You've been acting odd lately, and you're still too pale."

If Ginny took more than a second to think about everything, she'd break down, and there was no way on earth she'd cry in front of Percy again. She attacked instead. "Who cares what I'm doing here! What are you doing here, Percy? You shouldn't be alone either, right? And why were you whistling? You never whistle."

Percy flushed tomato red. "That's none of your business, Ginny! I'm five years older than you -- I think I can handle myself in a crisis, should one arise."

" _Really?_ " Ginny gave him her best imitation of Mum's I-know-you're-hiding-something-so-confess-already-before-I-get-angry look. "That still doesn't explain why you were whistling."

"That's completely beside the point!" snapped Percy. "What sort of world is it when a man can't whistle without everybody sticking their noses into his business? And yes, _I_ can take care of myself, which _you_ , clearly, cannot. Now, will you come back to Gryffindor Tower willingly or do I need to drag you there?"

"Toad-licking bully," muttered Ginny, but she trailed after Percy rather than let him manhandle her again. Besides, it would be easy enough to distract him and slip out of the common room.

In short order, she clambered back through the portrait hole and returned to the mazy corridors, still trying to avoid people. But Percy had jolted her out of her snarled thoughts; this time she had a destination in mind. Whatever she might or might not have agreed to in her sleep, thought Ginny, if Tom was the one who knew how to Petrify people, then, logically, if she got rid of Tom, everything would go back to normal.

She stopped outside of Myrtle's bathroom to salute Sir Vladislav, and then turned the brass doorknob. The bathroom was as dim and dingy as ever, and Myrtle's sobs echoed damply from one of the toilets. There was something strange about this place, something that called her feet when she wasn't paying attention. Ginny thought that might be Tom's fault. This was the place where she'd worked his dark ritual to bind them -- it made sense to break that spell here.

Tom lived in the diary. Maybe he could twist her dreams at any time, but he couldn't get out unless it was open. If the book was destroyed, he should fade with it.

She drew her wand, intending to set fire to the diary, but Myrtle's sobs grew louder and Ginny paused. Sir Vladislav was her friend and wouldn't tattle if she asked him not to, but Myrtle enjoyed spoiling people's plans. There was no way Ginny could trust Myrtle to stay quiet about someone burning a book in her bathroom. She'd have to find somewhere else to light the fire...

Wait. Ginny tucked her wand away and hefted the diary in her hands. Fire would be faster, but surely not even Tom's spell could absorb gallons of water. The paper would turn to pulp soon enough. And then she'd be free.

Ginny ran her hands over the shabby, black book. "Goodbye, Tom," she whispered. "I hope you go to hell." Then she gripped it firmly in her right hand and skimmed it over the top of the stalls, directly toward Myrtle's favorite toilet.

It made a wonderful splash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Tom tells Ginny is a conflation of several versions of the legend of Isis and Osiris, so don't expect to find it elsewhere in exactly this form.
> 
> Also, you may or may not have noticed, but I have been taking the lines that Tom quotes to Harry in the Chamber -- _"No one's ever understood me like you, Tom... I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in... It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket..."_ and a bit later, _"Dear Tom, I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me... There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad... I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!"_ \-- and judiciously sprinkling them through the story.
> 
> I have also been rephrasing and reinterpreting them. This is because Rowling's lines, as written, are excellent material for taunting Harry, but don't always make sense as things that Ginny would have written in context -- the overall sentiments are reasonable, but the details are fishy. And after all, why should we expect Tom to remember those scribbled lines perfectly? There's no permanent record; the diary erases words nearly as soon as they're written. So I am working on the assumption that Tom was twisting things for dramatic effect.


	10. Slings and Arrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Tenth: In which Ginny tries to convince herself that she isn't guilty of Tom's crimes, with rather limited success. A tumultuous Valentine's Day does not help _anything_.

Ginny spent Saturday night and all of Sunday avoiding everyone. Since this wasn't much of a change from her usual behavior, nobody commented. Ginny couldn't decide whether to be grateful or not. On the one hand, no one suspected her and she wouldn't get into trouble for the Petrifications. On the other hand, nobody cared if she got into trouble, maybe not even her brothers.

It wasn't fair.

What was wrong with her, that she couldn't make real friends? None of the other Gryffindors liked her, her brothers kept ignoring her, Xanthe only spent time with her in Herbology and on weekends, and Tom betrayed her. Had he ever been her friend, or had he been lying about everything from the start?

Ginny felt very small inside -- small, stretched, and twisted into knots. Maybe her isolation was her fault. She probably shouldn't have yelled at Susan when Daphne set Madam Hooch's broom on fire. She probably shouldn't have yelled at Apple either, and even when the boys were being idiots and accusing Harry of horrible things, she should have kept her temper.

Maybe her fight with Daphne was her own fault, too?

That thought sneaked up on her Sunday night and roiled in her stomach at supper. Ginny set down her fork and hurried out of the Great Hall before the smell of food could make her sick. She hid in the dormitory, pulled her bed-curtains shut, and stuffed her pillow over her face. It didn't particularly help.

But after several hours of chasing down mental tangles, Ginny decided that _that_ fight was entirely _Daphne's_ problem. And Susan had taken Daphne's side, so Ginny had been right to be angry. She'd been right to be angry when everyone accused Harry as well. If the other first years were stupid and blind, then she didn't want to be friends with them anyhow.

She'd been following Tom's advice on how to deal with people, though, and she probably shouldn't trust anything he'd said. She could at least stop pushing back. Mum and Percy always went on and on about not getting revenge, since that only made things worse. Normally Ginny didn't listen. Revenge was a game she and Ron played with the twins. The twins almost always stopped before they did anything they couldn't take back, and she and Ron never really hurt them, or used serious hexes. They just didn't tell anyone else it was a game, because that would take half the fun out of it.

Daphne was different. Ginny hated Daphne, and Daphne hated her back. They weren't family; they weren't playing a game. Pushing her could get dangerous.

Ignoring her... well, Percy always said that worked on troublemakers, but Ginny had never seen him actually prove it. He'd never managed to make the twins leave him alone; he always lost his temper or stalked off to tell Mum before the twins got bored. Percy tried to act like he was better than the rest of the family, but he got angry just as fast -- faster, really, since he wouldn't admit that he had a temper and so he'd never learned how to stuff anger down and use it. Ginny was sure she could hold her temper better than Percy, and that would drive Daphne up the wall.

Besides, nobody would be Petrified anymore, not since she'd thrown away the diary. People would stop panicking and accusing Harry, and if Ginny wasn't always getting angry at idiots, it would be easier to stay calm when Daphne tried to get a rise out of her.

"I won't get angry," Ginny scribbled on a scrap of parchment. "I won't yell at people. I won't hex anyone." She waited several seconds before she remembered that nobody would answer, and. Then she added, in a heavy hand, "I won't miss Tom. He was evil and lying and trying to suck out my life. He killed a girl once. He would have killed me. I don't miss him."

Ginny stared at the glistening ink. The words sat on the parchment, clear for anyone to read. She wished they would sink down and turn invisible. She wished Tom would read them.

"I don't miss him," she whispered. "I _don't_." She crumpled the words in her fist, dipped the parchment into a candle flame, and opened the window to drop the burning wad out into the still, icy air. It drifted down along Gryffindor Tower like a golden flower and landed on a steep roof nearly five stories below. Dirty snow doused the flames.

Ginny shut the window and tried to concentrate on her reading for History of Magic.

January wound down without incident, and people eventually seemed to relax. Daphne sniped at Ginny during Potions and Snape oozed greasy malevolence, but Ginny grimly held her temper and ignored them. Transfiguration was as difficult as ever, but Ginny thought she was finally getting the hang of Charms. When Professor Flitwick praised her for tying knots with a brisk downward flick of her wand, and asked her to demonstrate the proper movement to Apple, she felt a warm glow of satisfaction.

One week Professor Sprout led an extracurricular Herbology session outside to demonstrate the growth of iceflowers in the wild. The next week, they transplanted some of the pale, silvery shoots and brought them into Greenhouse Four where Sprout had set up a corner plot with special Cooling Charms. Ginny wanted to take seeds home to the Burrow, but it didn't seem worthwhile; the chickens or the gnomes would dig them up before they could bloom.

Hermione was still in hospital, but she had opened her curtains -- all her fur had fallen out, and Madam Pomfrey was only keeping her in to make sure she wouldn't relapse. Ginny took to visiting her once Harry and Ron returned from their daily chats. Hermione was a bit of a bore, and constantly tried to suggest extracurricular reading and arrange revision timetables for the end-of-year exams (without asking Ginny whether she wanted any help), but Hermione was a girl. She understood about liking boys. Even though Ginny thought Hermione was daft for liking Lockhart, and Hermione thought Ginny was strange for liking Harry, they could commiserate over the impossibility of ever getting boys to notice them.

"Valentine's Day is coming up," said Hermione at the beginning of February, as she sorted through Ron's semi-legible Transfiguration notes. "You could always send him a card -- sign it 'Your Secret Admirer' or something like that -- then you'd have some idea how he'd react to the idea of a girlfriend."

"Erm," said Ginny. She picked up Hermione's spare quill and tapped it against the bedside table. "But what would I say?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Maybe a poem? I'm not much good at this sort of thing."

"Are you going to send one to Lockhart?"

Hermione flushed. "Well, yes, I suppose... do you think he'd mind? He must get a lot of cards, and he might be tired of them. I know _I'd_ be embarrassed if people kept sending me love letters, but he's ever so gracious about it."

Ginny said, carefully, "I don't think he'd mind getting Valentine's cards."

"You're right," said Hermione, sounding more definite. "It's not as if I'm asking him to reciprocate, exactly, and besides, I won't write anything gushy. I'll just send him a note of appreciation for his bravery and his willingness to share his experience with us."

"I'm sure he'll like that," said Ginny, and excused herself to try writing a poem.

Poetry, she decided one hour later, was not her strong point. All she'd managed to come up with were limericks and doggerel, and none of it worked! She stared at the sheets of parchment on her pillow and kicked her feet against her bed.

_'There once was a boy with a scar_  
 _And black hair as shiny as tar;_  
 _He beat You-Know-Who,_  
 _And mean Quirrell too,_  
 _And I know he'll go really far.'_

That was horrible!

_'Roses are red,_  
 _Violets are blue,_  
 _You're awfully brave,_  
 _And I like you.'_

No. No. A thousand times no.

_'He flies as fast as lightning,_  
 _He's brave when things get frightening_  
 _He makes my day seem brightening...'_

"'Seem brightening?' Ugh." And what could she use for a fourth line, anyhow? Tightening? Whitening? Heightening? "My love for him is heightening?" Ginny tried aloud, tentatively, and then rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the unfinished poem. "I couldn't say that to Harry -- not for a hundred Galleons!"

She pulled out a new sheet of parchment and tried again.

_'His eyes are green, his hair is black,_  
 _He drove the evil wizard back,_  
 _He's strong and brave and always saves_  
 _The day, when nasty things attack.'_

"Argh!" Ginny tugged on her hair in frustration. She might as well write something awful on purpose -- there was no way she could do worse than she'd already managed. "His eyes are green, his hair is black," she muttered to herself. "Green like what? Like... like grass. Emeralds. Stupid jealous people. Poison. Pickles. Oh, toad-guts!"

Toads... Toads were green -- well, when they weren't brown -- and they were definitely green when they were pickled and floating in jars in Snape's storage cabinets. "Green like a pickled toad." Ginny snickered.

 _'His eyes,'_ she scribbled, _'are as green as a fresh-pickled toad,  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard;'_

Ginny paused. She wasn't ever going to show these poems to anyone; there was no reason to tiptoe around things. None of this wishy-washy 'I like you' business.

_'I wish he was mine, he's really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!'_

Ginny looked down at this latest bit of doggerel and rolled sideways in a fit of giggles. 'Dark as a blackboard!' Oh God, that was awful!

The door opened and several people clomped into the room. "Ginny? What's so funny?" asked Susan.

"Nothing!" said Ginny, and then clapped her hand over her mouth to smother the traitorous remnant of her laughter. So what if she hadn't been getting anywhere -- that was no reason for idiots to come ask questions while she was doing something private. She gathered her poems and flipped them upside-down.

"Nothing?" Apple asked dryly.

"Exactly." Ginny folded the parchment sheets in half and tucked the poems under her textbooks. She set her quill and ink beside them on her night table and frowned preemptively at Susan. "Good night."

She pulled her curtains shut and sulked.

Hermione came back from the infirmary the next day, but Ginny decided not to ask her for more advice. Instead, she trudged off to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom after dinner and sat down in Sir Vladislav's alcove. The floor was hard and cold, but she was wearing a pair of wool stockings, so she wouldn't freeze for a while. She sighed.

Sir Vladislav creaked and clashed as he sat down on his pedestal. He tipped his helmet in a questioning gesture.

Ginny pulled out her quill, ink, and spare parchment, and smiled at the enchanted armor. "I realized I hadn't come to talk with you in a while, and this time I remembered to bring something for you to write on. I wanted to ask if you know what to write in a Valentine -- I want to send one to Harry, but I don't know what to write. Hermione said poems are good, but I can't write poems. And you're sort of a man, right? So maybe you know what he'd like?"

She thrust the parchment and quill toward Sir Vladislav, who took them gravely. He inked the quill and held it delicately between the thumb and first finger of his gauntlet, obviously afraid that he might snap the feather. He scratched at the parchment for nearly a minute before handing it back to Ginny.

_"Valentines Day is for telling peeple that you are in love. Therefor, you shoud tell Harry that you love him. If that is to large a step, tell him that you admire him and wish to understand him better. You mite also tell him that you believ in him and are serten he is not the Heir of Slytherin. A poem is not nessessary, because you do not want to make him uncomfortable."_

Below this, Sir Vladislav had added in a more tentative hand, _"Presents are always good. I heer that many peeple like chokolate."_

Ginny flushed. Now that Sir Vladislav said it, it seemed obvious that poetry would only make Harry feel awkward -- after all, _he_ wasn't like Lockhart! All she needed to do was say that she wanted to be his friend. She was a Gryffindor. How hard could that be?

"Thanks, Sir Vladislav," she said. "I'll get rid of my poems -- they were terrible anyhow." She paused. "Er, do you think the kitchen elves would let me have some chocolate?"

Sir Vladislav managed to look skeptically inquiring; it was something in the tilt of his shoulder plates and the angle of his helmet.

"Fred and George know how to get into the kitchens," Ginny explained. "They haven't showed me, but I'm sure I can talk them into it if I want to."

Sir Vladislav reached for the parchment and ink. _"The elfs mite give you chokolate, but it woud be a better present if you bouht it yourself. Remember honour."_

"Oh. Right." Ginny felt her face burn as she tucked the parchment and quill into her bag. "Thanks for reminding me, Sir Vladislav."

He saluted gravely and levered himself back to his feet.

Ginny hurried to the girls' dormitory and flopped onto her bed. All she had to do was write a short message to say that she was sure Harry was innocent, and she'd like to be his friend. She brushed the end of her quill back and forth under her chin, thinking.

"Dear Harry," she scribbled under Sir Vladislav's shaky handwriting, "I want to wish you Happy Valentine's Day and tell you that I know you're not the Heir of Slytherin. I'd like to be your friend."

Hmm. Ginny stared at the short letter. No, that wouldn't do. She sounded too sure about the Heir -- there was no reason to give anyone hints about Tom. Not even Harry.

"Dear Harry, Happy Valentine's Day. I'm sure you're not the Heir of Slytherin. I'd like to be your friend."

No, that sounded even worse. And it wouldn't make any sense if she didn't sign it so Harry knew who his potential friend was... and she wasn't quite brave enough for that. Ginny kicked her feet against the bedposts and tried again. Two sheets of parchment later, she thought she might have something workable.

"Dear Harry," she read to herself. "I'm sure you're not the Heir of Slytherin, and I want you to know that people believe in you. Happy Valentine's Day, A Friend." It wasn't anything like perfect, but it said more or less what she couldn't manage to say whenever Harry was actually in front of her.

Ginny folded the parchment, set it under her textbooks with her failed poetry attempts, and left to wash up before bed. When she got back, Apple and Susan were laughing and whispering as they put on their nightdresses. Ginny tore up her poems and threw them into the wastebasket, just to be on the safe side.

\---------------------------------------------

Valentine's Day was a Sunday, but Lockhart had posted notices that he was planning a holiday-themed, morale-boosting celebration on the Monday after that, so most people held onto their cards and chocolates and waited to see what bizarre idea Lockhart would pull out of his sleeve this time. When she reached the Great Hall on Monday morning, Ginny stopped in shock at what Lockhart considered a Valentine's theme. She wished she'd remembered that this was Lockhart, who didn't have even half the sense of a squashed toad. She wished she'd had the sense to send her letter by owl the day before.

The walls of the Great Hall were plastered with gigantic flowers in a hideous shade of pink. The ceiling showed nothing but soft baby blue, instead of the greyish clouds Ginny had seen from her window that morning. And heart-shaped pink confetti was falling from somewhere above the tables -- it vanished a foot or two over people's heads, but Ginny thought she smelled a whiff of sickly-sweet perfume on the paper.

Ginny dropped her head into her hands and moaned.

Shortly thereafter, Lockhart stood up from the professors' table, cleared his throat, and said, "Happy Valentine's Day! And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all -- and it doesn't end here!"

He clapped his hands, and a dozen dwarfs marched through the doors to the entrance hall. They had golden wings attached to their backs, harps in their arms, and extremely disgruntled expressions on their faces. Ginny didn't blame them, not in that get-up.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" said Lockhart, beaming. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion -- why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a love potion? And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Ginny didn't dare look at the teachers' table to see Snape and Flitwick's reactions. The card in her bag seemed to burn against her skin, even through layers of fabric. She couldn't possibly give it to one of the dwarfs -- she couldn't even begin to imagine how much that would embarrass Harry.

Before Charms, Ginny ran back to Gryffindor Tower to shove her card under her pillow. Then, in class, Susan had the nerve to ask Professor Flitwick what Entrancing Enchantments did, which set him off on a lecture about ethical and unethical uses of mood-altering magic. Ginny thought about the Dueling Club, and Tom, and dug her nails into her palms.

Transfiguration was more like a proper lesson -- nobody dared to push Professor McGonagall when she was in a controlled fury -- but twice they were interrupted by dwarfs banging open the door, cornering a student, and reciting messages before handing over cards. Each time, Professor McGonagall's frown deepened and her wand movements grew sharper.

Lunch was a madhouse, with people watching every new valentine delivery, laughing about the words, making bets on who had sent it, and so on. For once, Ginny was grateful that nobody noticed her much. It was ages better than getting a valentine like this.

And then, when the first years started back toward Gryffindor Tower after lunch, hurrying to keep ahead of the students heading for classes, one of the dwarfs went after Harry.

"Oi, you!" he shouted. "'Arry Potter!" He elbowed people in the thighs, kicked them in the shins, and banged them with his harp, shoving himself forward through the crowd.

Harry tried to escape, but the dwarf was faster. "I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said, plucking his harp strings and glowering. Harry hissed something at the dwarf and tried to pull away, but the dwarf grabbed his bag and hung on. "Stay _still!_ " he grunted.

"Let me go!" said Harry, still struggling. His bag couldn't take the strain; with a loud ripping noise, it tore in half. Books, parchment, and quills spilled onto the floor, and his inkbottle smashed, soaking everything in blood-red ink.

Ginny winced in sympathy.

As Harry scrambled to pick up his things and the dwarf struck a pose with his harp, a group of Slytherins joined the crush in the corridor. Naturally, Draco Malfoy was in the lead. "What's going on here?" he asked in his bored, drawling voice.

Ginny winced again. Then it got even worse.

"What's all this commotion?" asked an all-too-familiar voice, as Percy pushed his way through the crowd. "Who's responsible for this?"

Ginny tried to disappear into the wall. Harry ran, but before he got two steps the dwarf tackled him at the knees and brought him crashing to the floor. "Right," he said, sitting on Harry's ankles and glaring. "Here is your singing valentine:

_"His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad,_  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard;  
I wish he was mine, he's really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord." 

Ginny's mind went blank from sheer mortification.

All around her, people were laughing. They were laughing at Harry, and it was _her poem_ the dwarf had been singing. Somebody had found her poem and used it to embarrass Harry.

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" Draco said loudly, over the laughter, as he held up a shabby, black-covered book. An eager hush fell over the corridor.

Ginny stared blankly at the book. It should have been soaked in red ink like Harry's other books, but it was spotless, as if all the ink had been sucked away. There was only one book that could do that. That was her diary. Tom's diary. The diary that called out the Heir. The diary she'd thrown into Myrtle's toilet so nothing would go wrong again. _Harry had the diary_. And now Draco Malfoy had picked it up. She looked back and forth from Draco's hands to Harry's face.

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy, in his best I'm-in-charge voice.

"When I've had a look," said Draco. He waved the diary at Harry, mockingly.

"As a school prefect--" Percy started, but Harry didn't listen.

He pulled out his wand and shouted, " _Expelliarmus!_ " and the diary flew out of Draco's hands. Ron leaned over and caught it.

Ginny flinched. She couldn't let Tom get at Ron! Not her _brother_.

Percy cleared his throat. "Harry! No magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this, you know!"

As if house points mattered now! Harry seemed to agree, since he was ignoring Percy. Draco looked furious, though, and as Ginny edged past him he said, "I don't think Potter liked your valentine much." Behind him, the Slytherins laughed, and Daphne held up a scrap of parchment with four scribbled lines in green ink. She smirked.

Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran, trying to keep people from seeing her face turn blotchy with embarrassment and tears. Everything was wrong. Someone had stolen her poem, the stupid poem that was only a joke, and used it to hurt Harry. Someone had rescued the diary from the flood and now Tom was just waiting to hurt Harry too.

She ducked into an empty classroom, slammed the door behind her, and cried.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny spent the rest of the day hiding in the library. Now that she thought about it, she remembered Apple and Susan laughing over something just before she'd burned her poems; they must have taken one while she was washing up. She didn't care whose idea it was to give the poem to Lockhart's dwarfs -- she hated all of them. Apple, Susan, the stupid boys, Daphne, Daphne's stupid friend, Electra, Draco Malfoy... she bet they were all in on it.

She wouldn't mind if _they_ got Petrified.

Immediately, Ginny curled up in her chair and tugged on her hair. She didn't mean that! Nobody deserved to be Petrified, and anyhow that would mean letting Tom back out, which would mean he'd do things to Harry, and that would be awful! She had to get the diary away from Harry. She didn't know if he'd started writing to Tom yet, but sooner or later he would, and then Tom would get into _his_ dreams and pretend to be _his_ friend and make _him_ Petrify people.

Well, maybe not -- Harry had to be stronger than she was, he was a hero -- but she couldn't take the chance. Everything Tom had done was her fault too, even if it was only because she didn't stop him, so she was responsible for him. She had to protect Harry from the diary.

But how could she protect him? She couldn't sneak into his room and look through his bag and his trunk... could she? That would be wrong. But letting Tom hurt Harry, or use Harry, would be even more wrong, wouldn't it?

That evening, Ginny went to bed early and pulled the curtains tightly shut. She stared gloomily at _A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration_ and wished she had somebody to talk to. After a minute, she caught herself scribbling, "Dear Tom, I need to help Harry," in the margin of her book, and looked at her hand in horror.

_"You do miss me. I wondered."_

Ginny nearly wrenched her neck turning toward the familiar, whispery voice. Tom's misty form hovered at the end of her bed; as she watched, he crossed his legs and sat on top of her covers. _"That wasn't very nice, Ginevra, throwing me into a toilet. You're lucky that Moaning Myrtle took exception and washed me out immediately."_

Ginny gaped. She tried to speak, but her voice was gone. Wildly, she threw her quill at him; it fluttered and missed, drifting down beside his ghostly legs to stain her covers with green ink. Tom lifted it and twirled it between his fingers.

 _"Ginevra, is that any way to greet a friend, let alone your adopted brother?"_ He smiled; there were nasty edges in it. _"I'm hurt. But then, I'm making a new friend now, so I suppose it's all right if you don't want to see me anymore."_

Now Ginny found her voice. "Stay away from Harry!"

Tom inspected his fingernails, unconcerned. _"I don't believe you're in a position to give me orders, Ginevra. Your precious Harry has my prison at the moment, and he's voluntarily let me take him into a memory -- it's much easier to drain him that way than if he simply writes to me."_

Ginny shook with rage. "You're evil. You made me do Dark Arts -- that spell was blood magic and it was Dark, I know it -- and you're not going to do anything like that to Harry. I won't let you."

 _"Evil is an illusion,"_ said Tom. _"Power is the only reality, and at the moment, you have no power over me -- whereas I do have power over you. Your concern for Harry is a lever I can use to move you. And that spell you so willingly performed? Why, it lets me draw on you directly, without the need to read your childish drivel. How else did you think I could appear to you now?"_

Before Ginny could reply, Tom looked up and to the side as if hearing an inaudible signal. _"Ah. Harry seems to have reached the end of my memory -- I really should thank you for telling me about his friendship with Rubeus Hagrid, and Hagrid's regrettable inability to learn from his mistakes. It's fascinating to watch people turn on each other and reveal their so-called friendships as the lies they are."_ He smiled again, with a mocking twist. _"I should return in case he wants to talk some more. Until next time, Ginevra. Sleep soundly, and dream of me."_

His form thinned, wavered, and vanished -- Ginny's belated lunge left her sprawling fruitlessly along her bed. Quickly, she twitched her curtain aside to make sure nobody was in the room. Even if people couldn't hear Tom, she'd just admitted doing Dark magic, and that could get her expelled -- and then who would help Harry?

The room was empty. She was safe, for now.

Ginny took a deep breath and tried to stop panicking. She had to think logically about this.

Right. Harry had the diary, and tonight he'd written in it. Was this the first time? She couldn't be sure, but Tom had said he was making a new friend so it probably was. She bet Harry had noticed that there was no ink on the diary -- he saw things like that, things that were out of place -- and he'd tried to figure out how it worked. Then he'd done something utterly stupid and let Tom pull him into a memory. She had no idea how that worked, but it sounded dangerous, and whatever Tom had showed him was either a lie or twisted around so it looked like it meant one thing when it really meant something else.

But the important thing was that Tom was draining people. He'd admitted that. Whenever somebody wrote in the diary, he sucked at them, and because Ginny had been even more stupid than Harry, she'd let him teach her Dark magic so that he could drain her even when she wasn't writing to him. She'd thrown the diary away but they were still connected -- she could still see and hear him when the pages were open, even though Harry had the diary now.

Harry trusted Tom enough to go into his memories. That wasn't good. If he trusted Tom that much, how long would it be before Tom talked him into Dark Arts too?

Ginny couldn't let that happen. She was the one who'd let Tom out at first. She was the one who'd let him Petrify people. She was the one who'd linked herself to him. He was her responsibility, not Harry's.

She had to get the diary back.

\---------------------------------------------

Susan and Apple avoided her in the morning, which was just as well -- Ginny didn't think the prefects would have been happy if she'd punched them in the common room or made a scene at breakfast. By the time she reached the Defense classroom, she'd got a firm grip on her temper. The other first years weren't the real problem. She couldn't afford to be distracted.

Lockhart, of course, pushed her resolve nearly to the breaking point.

"Oh, children!" he said as he swept into the room, making his indigo robes swirl artfully around his legs. "Valentine's Day is a day for _love_ , not fighting! I heard that some of you laughed at Miss Weasley, here, when she found the courage to tell Harry Potter that she admires him. Shame on you! And congratulations, Miss Weasley -- people like _you_ exemplify the spirit of Valentine's Day, and make me proud to be part of the Hogwarts family." A candle flared, and his teeth flashed brilliant white.

Ginny bared her teeth in something that might pass for a smile if people didn't look too closely. It fooled Lockhart completely. He beamed at her, shook his finger at the other Gryffindors, and pranced to the front of the classroom to regale them with more of his improbable adventures.

She tried to leave the classroom as soon as he finished his lecture, but Lockhart snagged her by the shoulder and insisted on thanking her, at length, for her courage and charm. "A _marvelous_ poem," he said finally, when he started to run down. "Such fresh imagery, very idiosyncratic, very true to life! I thought the rhyme scheme quite ingenious, too, and I'm sure the managers of _Witch Weekly_ would agree. They need writers to title their photographs and put together snappy biographies -- brief, of course, nothing like the detail in my books -- and you'd do well to apply there. A bright young girl like you shouldn't let anything hold her back. With a bit of work, you might even end up writing the story when my next book comes out!"

He smiled again, wide and gleaming.

" _Witch Weekly_ , right," said Ginny. "Let go of me."

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry," said Lockhart. "Look what I've done to the hang of your robes. Let me straighten you out." He fussed over her shoulders for a minute -- Ginny froze, figuring that if she tried to slip away he'd only take twice as long -- and then stepped back. "Lovely. Well, run along now, Miss Weasley. And don't forget -- _Witch Weekly_ \-- tell them I recommended you!"

"Whatever," muttered Ginny, hurrying away. She made a face as she turned the corner toward the stairs. God, Lockhart was a smarmy git. She almost preferred Snape -- he was a toad-licking sadist, but at least he was honest about it. He didn't pretend to be anyone's friend. Snape also knew his subject, which was more than anyone with half an ounce of sense could say about Lockhart.

She tried to finish the Transfiguration reading Tom had interrupted last night, but she couldn't concentrate. She kept imagining Harry stabbing his finger with a quill and signing his life over to Tom, or remembering the vicious glee on Daphne's face when Draco Malfoy told everyone that Ginny had written the poem. Ginny seethed each time Daphne swam into her mind's eye -- Tom was an evil, traitorous, scum-sucking _bastard_ , but at least he'd been right about _her_. Slytherins couldn't be trusted.

By the time she stomped down into the dungeons for Double Potions, Ginny's grip on her temper was hair-thin. If Daphne so much as looked at her sideways...

Daphne was already in the room, setting up her supplies as Apple whispered furiously into her ear. She looked sour, and she glanced away from Ginny with nothing more than a brief twist of her mouth. Ginny slammed her book onto the table next to Electra and glowered at Snape's empty desk.

"Rough day?" asked Electra.

"What do you _think?_ " Ginny snarled.

Electra nodded. "They shouldn't have done that -- Valentine's Day is awkward enough without stupid jokes." She tossed her golden hair and sent a frown in Daphne's direction. "Daphne has no sense of proportion. Besides, when you're angry my Potions marks go down because you can't concentrate. So stop thinking about her until after class."

Ginny gaped at Electra's self-centeredness, but then she closed her mouth and began to set out her supplies. Backhanded sympathy was better than none, and it was true that she couldn't afford to be distracted in Snape's class. He took enough points off Gryffindor without explosions and other bad reactions.

They brewed a Shrinking Solution -- half the class made the version for inanimate objects while the other half brewed the version for living things -- without too much trouble. Ginny was glad that she and Electra were making the inanimate version; that meant she didn't have to resist the temptation to shrink Daphne's head to the size of a pin. It did mean she had to ask Snape to cast an Impervious Charm on her cauldron so the potion didn't shrink its container, but by now she was used to biting her tongue when he sneered at her.

"Tolerable," said Snape, after he tested Ginny and Electra's Shrinking Solution on a piece of chalk. "The consistency is too thick, however, and the color is a shade too orange. Weasley, try to overcome your family's idiocy and pay attention to your flame height. Summers, excellent job with the proportion of Doxy wings."

"I can't decide if I'm lucky to have you as a partner or not," Electra whispered as Snape moved on to examine Daphne and Ruth's potion. "You're brilliant at this, which is good, but I think it might kill Professor Snape to admit that, which is terrible." She sniffed. "I wish he'd let me work with Heather and Angelique."

"Not Daphne?" asked Ginny. Behind them, Snape asked Daphne just what she'd been thinking -- or if she'd been thinking at all -- when she switched the amounts of dragonfly wings and Doxy wings in her potion.

"She's too careless, and I'm not speaking to her in any case -- not until she admits stealing your poem was a bad idea. If she stole yours, after all, she might steal mine next year, and--" Electra cut herself off and ostentatiously concentrated on bottling the Shrinking Solution.

Ginny blinked. She hadn't realized Slytherins might turn on each other like Gryffindors did; she'd assumed the Slytherin girls followed Daphne, the way the second years seemed to follow Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Now that she thought about it, though, Heather Farthingale and Angelique Fitzroy didn't pay much attention to Daphne, and Electra hadn't ever actually deferred to her.

Also, Electra fancied someone enough to send a Valentine's Day card? That was interesting. Ginny decided not to ask about that right now, though. It wouldn't be fair, not after Electra had more or less taken her side against Daphne.

Slytherins couldn't be trusted, but maybe they weren't necessarily evil.

Snape dismissed the class with a ferocious scowl; Ginny cleaned up her cauldron and supplies as fast as she could. Then she waited outside the door until Susan breezed through, chattering at Apple, who was rubbing her forehead with a preoccupied air. "Susan," said Ginny, grabbing her sleeve. "I need to talk to you."

Susan blanched, and then smiled back, sharp and mocking. "Sure, Ginny. See you later, Apple!"

Apple frowned at both of them. "Take this out of the dungeons; I'd prefer not to lose house points when you start yelling and Snape overhears." Then she strode off down the corridor toward Daphne, who was watching with undisguised glee. She tapped her cousin on the shoulder, leaned down to mutter something in her ear, and led the Slytherin away.

"You stole my poem," said Ginny as she pulled Susan into an empty room and shut the door.

Susan folded her arms. "Yeah, I did. So?"

"So? So! How would you like it if I found your diary and had someone read bits of it out loud at dinner? That's practically what you did!" Ginny waved her arms wildly. "What did I ever do to you? I don't like you, but I leave you alone -- why can't you leave me alone too? Or if you have to be a toad-licker, then do things to my face -- that's how real Gryffindors act."

"It was to your face," said Susan, but she sounded less sure of herself than before.

"It was not," snapped Ginny. "And it wasn't an accident -- I put that parchment under a stack of books, so you had to be looking through my things on purpose. That's just _low_."

"Maybe it was. But you've no right to complain!" Susan said, leaning forward. "You're always going after Daphne, you think you're so much better than everyone, and you acted nice back at the start of the year -- what happened to you?"

"Nothing! Nothing happened," -- and oh, that was a lie, but she couldn't tell anyone about Tom -- "and it's none of your business anyhow. So what if I don't like you? Why should you care? And whatever's between Daphne and me is our problem, not yours, so keep your nose out of it."

"Maybe I will," said Susan, folding her arms again. "You know, she wanted us to sneak her into Gryffindor Tower so she could hex your books and your clothes, or dump paint in your bed, but I said no. You think about that. I think you deserve whatever Daphne comes up with next." She whirled, nodded once to Ginny, and slammed the door behind her.

Ginny stood in the flickering torchlight and fumed.

\---------------------------------------------

She was still fuming half an hour later, when she stomped down the corridor toward the portrait hole. "Mulligrubs," she snapped at the Fat Lady, who swung open with a disdainful sniff.

Susan didn't understand. Ginny wouldn't have minded half as much if Daphne had hexed her books, ruined her clothes, or punched her. She was a Weasley; she was used to that sort of thing. But going after something she wrote, stealing her private thoughts and telling everyone...

That was what Tom had done -- well, except for telling everyone. And he was still stealing from her, because he'd tricked her into casting that spell. He probably didn't even need to drain Harry; he could just wait until he'd sucked her dry.

There wasn't much she could do to Susan, not if she wanted to stop making the other first years into enemies -- it was completely unfair, Ginny thought absently, that Mum had never told her how much harder it was to make people like you than it was to make them hate you -- but she could get rid of Tom. She could save Harry.

She just had to find the diary.

"If I were Harry, and I'd found an enchanted diary, where would I keep it?" Ginny asked herself. She'd carried Tom with her, but that was because she didn't have other friends and she liked to talk to him. Harry had Ron and Hermione; he didn't _need_ Tom. He probably left it in his room. But she didn't think he'd leave the diary in the open -- there was something about Tom that made you want to take care of his prison and not blab his existence all over the place.

The second years were still in Transfiguration -- Ginny had memorized their schedule nearly as fast as her own -- and most people didn't hang around the tower this early in the afternoon, so she ought to be safe if she sneaked into the boys' dormitories and looked around. If she got caught, she could say she wanted to play a trick on her brothers.

Ginny looked around the common room, trying not to act furtive or nervous. Half the trick to sneaking around was to not look like you were sneaking around. She'd picked that up from Bill and the twins -- they could carry off looking like they belonged in outrageous places, but so far all Ginny had really mastered was fading into the background.

In retrospect, maybe that hadn't been the best skill to learn.

Anyhow, the common room was nearly deserted, and nobody was looking toward the stairs -- the people in the chairs were either dozing near the fire or hunched over books. She wasn't going to get a better chance than this.

Casually, Ginny walked to the boys' staircase. She rounded the first turn -- nobody came out of either the bedroom or the bathroom on the first landing. She passed the second landing, and the third, and was beginning to think that she might get away without meeting anyone and having to explain what she was doing...

A door opened. She whirled -- her heart tried to sink through the floor and jump out of her throat at the same time.

"Ginny? What on earth are you doing here?" Percy stood in a doorway on the fourth landing, wearing nothing but a brown paisley dressing-gown. A damp towel hung from his hand and water trickled from his hair.

Ginny flushed and ducked her head before she could catch herself, and lost her chance to brazen things out.

Percy's puzzled expression resolved into a scowl. "I don't care what the twins did this time -- you can't act the way you did at home. This is a school, not a zoo, and we have standards to uphold. Besides, revenge is a vicious cycle that inevitably leads to greater and greater escalation of problems until somebody gets seriously hurt."

"But I wasn't--" started Ginny, and then clamped her mouth shut before she told Percy that she'd been looking for Harry's things instead of the twins'. Percy was used to scolding her about family fights; he wouldn't ask questions unless she gave herself away. She couldn't let him find out about Tom.

"I don't care," repeated Percy. A drop of water trembled at the tip of his nose, and he swiped it away with the towel. He blinked, appearing to realize that he wasn't properly dressed, and flushed red at the ears. "Go down and wait in the common room -- either I talk to you or I write to Mum and let her give the lecture. I think you'd rather have me."

"Right," said Ginny, and fled.

She had almost made up her mind to hide in her room and let Percy write to Mum after all when he clattered down the stairs, looking extremely well put-together considering he'd been sopping wet not ten minutes before. Something tickled her nose as he sat in a chair across from her, and Ginny sniffed curiously.

"Percy? Are you wearing perfume?"

"It's called cologne," snapped Percy, flushing again, "and it's none of your business. Now, listen -- whatever the twins did to you, you're intelligent enough to know that revenge never actually stops them. If you ignore them, eventually they're bound to get tired and stop bothering you. That's what a sensible person would do."

"I don't care, and besides, they don't leave you alone," Ginny pointed out. She sniffed again. "That's an awful lot of perfume, Percy."

Percy's ears began to turn purple. "Cologne. Women wear perfume; men wear cologne. _Anyway_ , Ginny, just because I'm not as good at ignoring the twins as I'd like to be doesn't mean you're excused from proper behavior."

Ginny sneezed.

"Oh, that is just _it_. Come on, we're going to the infirmary." Percy shot to his feet, grabbed Ginny's hand, and started hauling her across the room.

"I'm not sick -- it's just your perfume -- all right, your _cologne_ \-- it makes my nose itch--" protested Ginny, but Percy refused to listen. He dragged her along corridors, up and down staircases, through a dust-choked shortcut hidden behind a tapestry -- Ginny nearly doubled over with a new fit of sneezes -- and all the way to the hospital wing.

"Pepperup potion," he told Madam Pomfrey. "She's still a bit pale, and she's been sneezing."

"It's his cologne!" Ginny tried to say, but she interrupted herself with a sneeze.

Madam Pomfrey promise to look after Ginny and shooed Percy out of the infirmary. "Dreadful scent, isn't it?" she said with a smile as she shut the door and turned back to Ginny. "Still, you do look a bit peaked. Why don't you stay here and rest for the afternoon? A bit of peace and quiet might do you good -- aside from Creevey, Finch-Fletchley, and poor Sir Nicholas, there's no one here but Gosworth and Thistlewaite over in the corner, and they'll be sleeping off botched Calming Charms until at least half past eight." She patted a bed invitingly.

Ginny wavered -- she couldn't make herself look at the curtains around Colin's bed without feeling flushed and guilty -- but having a bit of time to just rest... She sat down with a deep sigh. "Can I have a curtain so nobody will know I'm here?"

"Certainly," said Madam Pomfrey. She flicked her wand at a tall wardrobe near her office. " _Accio_. I'll come wake you for dinner," she said as a curtain and frame flew to surround Ginny's bed. Then her brisk footsteps moved away through the infirmary.

Ginny sighed again and lay down. She didn't feel sleepy, but she was tired. She also needed to think and nobody would interrupt her here.

She hadn't got the diary back, but maybe that could wait a while, since Harry probably wouldn't write in the diary as often as she had. If they were both lucky, Tom couldn't possess people until they'd written to him a lot. Of course, if they weren't lucky, then he just needed to have sucked away a certain amount of magic in general, and he'd obviously taken more than enough magic from Ginny to possess _her_.

Harry had stopped evil wizards before, though, so maybe he could recognize them? Maybe he would realize that there was something fishy about Tom, and he wouldn't write in the diary anymore.

Ginny rolled over onto her stomach and rested her chin on the thin hospital pillow. She wanted someone to talk to -- all her thoughts just went around and around in circles, and she didn't have enough information. How was she supposed to figure anything out? How was she supposed to protect Harry? She was just eleven! She wasn't a hero! She was so stupid she'd let Tom take her in for _five months_ , and she almost hadn't believed it when she got proof that he was the Heir.

Ginny kicked her feet against the bed in frustration. "I hate this," she muttered. "Everything's gone wrong and I don't know how to fix any of it! Not Tom, not Harry, not even stupid Daphne and Susan and that stupid valentine."

"Ginny?" A startled voice spoke from beyond the curtain, and Ginny sat up in shock.

"Who's there?"

"Me," said Apple, ducking inside the curtain. "Are you hurt? Susan didn't mention a fight..."

"It's nothing to do with her," snapped Ginny. "Percy caught me sneaking around the boys' tower and then he wouldn't believe that I was only sneezing because he had on too much cologne. Madam Pomfrey said I could stay to get some rest. Why are _you_ here?"

"Now and then I get migraines," Apple said mildly. "I come to Madam Pomfrey when they're particularly bad." She shifted her feet, looking oddly unsure of herself. "Look, I heard you talking about Daphne and Susan. I'm sorry I didn't stop them; at the time, I thought it would be harmless, but I didn't realize Daphne would tell Draco Malfoy, of all people. They let the joke get out of hand -- and, in retrospect, it probably hurt you more than if they'd gone after your clothes or your hair instead."

Ginny clamped her teeth shut before she could agree. "Why didn't you stop them altogether?" she asked after a moment. "I haven't done anything to Daphne for weeks, and I never did anything to Susan except yell at her. We're Gryffindors, not Slytherins. I'm trying to live up to that instead of letting Daphne drag me down to her level. Why can't you?"

Apple rubbed her temple and frowned. "Don't be self-righteous; you started this mess in the first place with your prejudices, and you hurt Susan's feelings quite badly when you turned on her. But yes, you've backed off, and I should have recognized that. I apologize."

Ginny folded her arms. "And?"

"And what? I don't control Daphne -- you set her off and now you have to live with the consequences. If you don't like the situation, it's your own responsibility to fix it. You reap what you sow, after all." Apple winced and rubbed her head again. "I'm sorry. It's hard to be tactful when I feel like someone's stirring my brain with red-hot pokers. If you'd rather not have me around, I can rest in the dormitory once I've seen Madam Pomfrey."

"I don't care what you do," said Ginny, suddenly needing to get away from the infirmary and the mute accusation of the Petrified bodies. "I'm going to the library. You can tell Madam Pomfrey." She slid off the bed and pushed out through the curtains, leaving Apple behind in the silent infirmary.

Everything was going wrong. She thought she'd fixed things when she got rid of Tom and stopped antagonizing Daphne, but Tom was back and telling lies to Harry, and Daphne wasn't stopping just because Ginny didn't want to fight anymore. Susan hated her, and Apple thought everything was Ginny's fault, just like Ginny had thought when she threw away the diary. She'd told herself that was only another one of Tom's lies, but she hadn't managed to get rid of the guilt; she'd only set it aside for a while, and now Apple had brought it roaring back to life.

Besides, Ginny had just remembered something important. Tom had made her dream about a dragon, and when she'd caught him lying, he'd talked about supplying a monster. If Tom wasn't gone, the monster -- whatever it really was -- wasn't gone either. Tom might possess Harry. He might possess _her_ again. And the next time he called out his monster, someone might die.

Doubts gnawed at her stomach, but Ginny tried to shove them aside and think -- she had to figure things out, had to make a plan. Percy would be watching her. She couldn't hunt the diary for a while, not until he forgot or got distracted, but she could watch Harry to make sure he wasn't writing to Tom. And when she got the diary back, she'd get rid of it properly. She'd burn it. Not even Tom could come back again if his diary was nothing but ashes.

As for Daphne... Ginny scowled as she hurried through the corridors. She couldn't be sure how far the Slytherin might go if Ginny started fighting again. Look at Tom -- she'd tried to get rid of him, and now he was threatening Harry instead of just her. Daphne's trick with the poem had hurt Harry, too, so Percy wasn't just blowing smoke when he talked about escalation. There were really only two choices: either she ignored the problem and hoped it would go away, or she got rid of it. Forever.

Ginny collapsed against the wall as the implications hit her. She couldn't just throw the diary away again. She had to destroy it.

She had to kill Tom.

Ginny slid to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. She wasn't a murderer! But... it wouldn't _really_ be killing, would it? Tom wasn't truly alive. He was only a memory in a diary. Besides, he was evil, and he'd killed a girl -- he'd admitted it! But still... Could she rip the diary to pieces? Could she set it on fire? Could she forget that Tom had been her friend? Yes, he'd probably been lying all along, but she hadn't been pretending.

"What would Harry do?" Ginny asked the empty corridor. Her voice felt gluey in her throat, and something itched at the corners of her eyes.

Harry was a hero. Tom was evil. Harry would kill him. That was what heroes did, wasn't it?

Gryffindors were supposed to be heroes, supposed to be strong, brave, and good. She had to try to live up to that, like she'd said to Apple. She had to try to live up to Harry. She couldn't just hide and hope he would save everyone again.

But to kill a friend...

Maybe it would be safer to leave the diary with Harry for a while. After all, she didn't know whether Tom could possess Harry, but she had solid proof that he could possess her and make her do horrible things. What if she got back the diary and Tom took over her body before she could destroy it, or if he made her think he wasn't really evil and it had all been a misunderstanding?

"I wish it was just a misunderstanding," muttered Ginny. "I want him back."

No, she corrected herself immediately, she didn't want Tom back, not the real Tom. She wanted the pretend Tom, the one who listened to her, who made her laugh, who treated her like she mattered. And as long as she wanted that, it would be dangerous to touch the diary. She ought to leave it alone until she was absolutely sure she could burn it, without giving Tom any chances to change her mind or go looking for his monster.

Until then, she'd have to trust Harry not to fall into Tom's trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Special Bonus Section: more bad Valentine's Day poems!**
> 
> **1.** Initial limerick attempt by Liz, rejected because of Americanisms, i.e. "guy"
> 
> _There once was a boy with green eyes_   
>  _Who miraculously didn't die;_   
>  _He beat You-Know-Who,_   
>  _And mean Quirrell too,_   
>  _And I'm sure he's still a good guy!_
> 
> **2.** Courtesy of Lasair's flatmate; arrangement, punctuation, and slight alterations by Liz
> 
> _I dream of him in deepest night,_   
>  _Elusive as a Snitch in flight;_   
>  _I would surrender to his might!_
> 
> _A scar upon a noble brow:_   
>  _I long to tell him -- oh, but how?_   
>  _"I would be yours, please take me now!"_
> 
> _I'd battle with the Giant Squid,_   
>  _I'd do what no-one ever did,_   
>  _But he still thinks that I'm a kid!_
> 
> _Alas._
> 
> **3.** Also courtesy of Lasair and her flatmate; arrangement and slight alterations by Liz
> 
> _When sitting in the common room_   
>  _I watch him polishing his broom;_   
>  _Were I the bride and he the groom,_   
>  _No fears would loom._
> 
> _I watch him flying, and the crowd_   
>  _Is thunderous; it's very loud._   
>  _But when he wins, I feel so proud._   
>  _Still I am cowed._


	11. A Place To Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Eleventh: In which life doesn't stop and people don't leave Ginny alone just because she wants to escape. In an effort to fight back against Tom, she investigates Percy and possession, with varying degrees of success.

Ginny watched Harry carefully for the rest of the week. She even went so far as to follow him to and from his classes, like Colin had done before... well, before. Ron spotted her several times and started giving her funny looks, like he thought she'd lost her mind, and Hermione asked if she wanted help with her lessons, but Harry didn't even notice. Once she overheard him talking about Hagrid and pets before Ron elbowed him silent, but whatever Tom had showed him couldn't have been _too_ convincing, since Harry wasn't rushing off to blame Hagrid for anything. And he didn't seem to know anything about Ginny, which was a huge relief.

Harry was acting normal.

Percy, on the other hand, had gone very peculiar. He'd always been fussy about his clothes, but now he shined his shoes every morning and adjusted his tie every ten minutes. He'd muted his cologne -- it didn't make Ginny sneeze anymore, just wrinkle her nose at the smell -- but the fact that he was wearing cologne at all... Something fishy was going on.

She was surprised Fred and George hadn't noticed, but Quidditch practices did take up a lot of time and she thought they were planning some elaborate trick that kept them distracted. They certainly spent a lot of time huddled in a corner of the common room, hunched over a tattered parchment, waving their arms in hushed arguments.

After the second time she saw him slip out of an unused classroom, Ginny started to wonder if Percy might have confiscated the diary from Harry.

That could be very bad. Percy was smart, but he didn't always pay attention once he'd got hold of an idea, and he liked being flattered, so it was easy to make him swallow outrageous stories if you started out telling the truth and slipped the lies in gradually. Tom was clever. He'd figure out how to get to Percy, and by the time Percy realized -- he was smart enough to realize eventually -- there was no telling what else might have gone wrong.

She'd have to follow Percy instead.

This was easier said than done. For one thing, Percy was a sixth-year, which meant he had classes in parts of the castle where a first year girl stood out like a sore thumb. For another, he was a prefect, which meant he spent a good bit of time patrolling the corridors, especially after other students were supposed to be in their common rooms or in bed. Two weeks after the Valentine's Day disaster -- with far too much practice running from Filch and ducking around corners to avoid Percy's classmates -- Ginny decided she needed a new strategy.

She picked at her breakfast toast and wished she had an Invisibility Cloak like Harry.

Then she thought about what Tom could have done if he'd been able to turn invisible, and shivered. It wasn't fair that she was the person who had to fight him -- he was older, he was smarter, and he knew all sorts of Dark magic. She was just a first year, and she was obviously stupid or she wouldn't have believed him for so long.

Ginny set her toast down, shoved her plate away, and rested her head on her crossed arms. She kept falling into a blue funk these days, no matter how much she tried to stay determined and optimistic. She was awfully tired, too. Percy frowned whenever he looked at her, like he still thought she was sick.

Ginny felt sick, enough that she'd gone to see Madam Pomfrey on her own and had got a bottle of tonic to add into her pumpkin juice every morning. "It's likely nothing but a cold, or a bit stress keeping you up at night," Madam Pomfrey had said. "If you don't feel better in a week, we'll try something stronger."

Ginny wasn't having trouble falling asleep -- if anything, she had the opposite problem. She had a nagging feeling that she wasn't sick, either. Tom could drain her magic and probably her life as well. He didn't have to act nice or pretend to be dead anymore. If he was pulling faster, how long would it take before he got out of the diary?

Ginny shivered. She'd have to corner Percy today, just to get him off her mind. Then she could figure out where the diary was and get it back.

Charms was fun that morning, if frustrating -- they were learning to move inanimate objects in complicated patterns, and the small pillows Professor Flitwick had supplied kept shooting unexpectedly across the room and knocking into people. Transfiguration was easier, since Professor McGonagall spent the lesson reviewing the differences between one-step changes and multi-step changes, and the benefits and drawbacks of both methods. Ginny scribbled notes when Professor McGonagall looked her way, and spent the rest of the time glaring at Susan or trying to figure out how to follow Percy without getting spotted.

After lunch, she found the twins in the common room and asked them for help.

"Follow someone without anyone spotting that it's you? That's easy," said George.

"But why bother following Percy?" asked Fred.

Ginny shrugged. "Practice. And I owe him for hauling me off to the hospital wing."

"Oh, right," said Fred. "In that case--"

"--we'll be happy to help," said George. He looked at Fred. "D'you think...?" Fred nodded, and the twins stood from their couch. "We need a bit of privacy for this." Fred took hold of Ginny's arm and steered her toward the portrait hole.

"Wait, what are you talking about? Where are we going?" protested Ginny. "Let go of me!"

The twins exchanged a long-suffering look. "What's happening to Hogwarts these days?" asked George. "When we were first years, there was respect for your seniors, and everybody knew you had to--"

"--figure mysteries out on your own," continued Fred. "Manners have fled, the noble tradition of study is failing, everything is done by rote, and young minds--"

"Just because you care more about fooling around--" Ginny started.

"Oh, shut it, Ginny," Fred interrupted. "We said we'd help you, didn't we? Come on, let's go find an empty room and we'll explain everything to our ickle baby sister so she isn't confused anymore."

"Of course, we expect a full report on whatever Percy's done to get your attention," added George, leaning past her to push the portrait open.

Ginny swallowed. That... might not be possible, not if Percy had the diary. But she was sure she could make up something that would embarrass him without drawing too much of the twins' attention.

They led her down several corridors and up a staircase to a musty storeroom near the Owlery. Tucked out of sight behind a mountain of empty trunks and several teetering stacks of old chairs, a battered plush couch sat facing a long table. Three cauldrons, a set of scales, a portable fire-dish, and various other potion-making equipment lay scattered around.

Ginny yanked her arm out of Fred's grip and glared at her brothers. "Brewing experimental potions without supervision is dangerous! You could kill yourselves, or blow up the room, or set poison gas seeping through the whole castle. I should tell Professor McGonagall."

Fred smiled. "But you won't -- not if you want our help."

"Besides, we're careful. One of us is always ready to put up a barrier and throw neutralizers over any mistakes," added George. "We're not stupid."

"I've heard _that_ one before," muttered Ginny. "Anyhow, what were you going to show me? I don't think jokes will help -- I want to follow Percy, not transfigure him into a giant canary."

The twins exchanged one of their mysterious looks and then grinned, widely. "Giant canary?" said Fred.

"Temporary," said George, in a warning tone.

Fred waved that off. "Right, right. Moulting's more funny anyway, especially if it's uneven. Ginny, you're a brilliant, brilliant, wonderful ickle baby sister. For that, we waive your price." George gave Fred a sharp look, but Fred waved that off too. "Sit down and close your eyes for a minute," he said, pushing Ginny onto the couch.

Ginny stuck out her tongue, but she closed her eyes and covered them with her hands for good measure. Something rustled on the other side of the table -- one of the twins pulling parchment from a bag -- and then George murmured something low and unintelligible.

"You can look now," said George, as he sat beside her.

"Voila!" said Fred, from his perch on the table's edge. "Are we your favorite brothers, or are we your favorite brothers?"

Ginny stared, dumbstruck, at the crumpled parchment in George's hands. To call it a map of the castle was a massive understatement. It showed every floor, from the lowest dungeons to the highest towers, with all the staircases, one-way doors, and trick corridors clearly marked. It showed secret rooms and hidden passages between the walls. And it showed _every single person_ in Hogwarts, moving around, with their names floating next to the tiny black symbols; when she focused on any particular dot, the tiny print swam into clear view.

"This is dead cool," she breathed. "This is the coolest bit of magic I've ever seen. Did you make this?"

"Don't we just wish we had! " said George. "We'd spend a month sucking up to _Snape_ if that would buy us half the skill we'd need to make something like this. This is the Marauder's Map--"

"--made by four geniuses who used to be students here -- we nicked this from Filch's files back when we were ickle firsties. See?" Fred pointed to the top of the map, which said:

  
_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_  
 _Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_  
 _are proud to present_  
THE MARAUDER'S MAP

"This is how we get around the castle without being caught," said George.

"Pay no attention to him, most of that's natural skill," corrected Fred, "but yes, the Map's a huge help. Best aid for sneaking and spying there is."

"We'll lend it to you--"

"--for _one_ day. Maybe two, but then you'll have to pay--"

"--with more than giant canaries. Which is a smashing idea, thanks," said George. "We won't tell you the code to make the map appear--"

"--must keep some of our secrets--"

"--but to hide it, just tap it with your wand and say, 'Mischief managed!' It'll vanish, just like that." George showed Ginny the blank parchment. Then he laid his wand on it and whispered something she couldn't catch; the map snaked back over the parchment in a tangle of ink, welling up from some intangible source.

Ginny suppressed a shudder. The map wasn't like Tom. It didn't think. It wouldn't hurt her -- it hadn't hurt her brothers -- and she needed it. "Thanks," she said, taking the map from George and stuffing it into her bag. "You're the best."

The twins grinned at each other over her head. "Best is the same as favorite, wouldn't you say?"

"Not necessarily," returned George. "Girls can be funny that way -- sometimes they like utter prats better than suave geniuses like ourselves."

"Well?" Fred asked Ginny. "Are we your favorite brothers?"

Ginny grinned back at them, feeling much more cheerful than she had in weeks. "No, Ron's still my favorite. But you're catching up -- you're about even with Bill just now -- so keep trying and maybe you'll knock him out of first place sometime before you turn a hundred."

"Stabbed through the heart!" cried Fred, pressing his hand to his chest. "Wounded! Betrayed!"

"Told you so," said George, clapping his hand on Fred's shoulder. "We'll pick up the map tomorrow evening, Ginny. Now come on -- let's get back to the common room before Lee starts hunting us down."

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny decided not to follow Percy that afternoon. It was Ron's birthday, after all, and even if their family never did much to celebrate -- Mum baked cakes, but they didn't have the money for gifts -- it seemed wrong to pay more attention to Percy than Ron, especially since Ron was still her favorite brother. She settled for giving Percy the stink eye across the table when he made a particularly pompous toast to Ron's future career, and plotted ways to win free time on Tuesday.

Faking sick seemed easiest. Ginny made a point of blowing her nose repeatedly during dinner and acting listless in the common room while Ron mocked his collection of badly hand-drawn birthday cards. It was dangerously easy -- she'd nearly fallen asleep for real by the time Hermione tapped her shoulder and asked if she felt all right. "I think I'm coming down with a cold," she told Hermione. "I'm going to sleep early."

"If you're still sick tomorrow, take the day off," said Hermione. "If you try to push through you'll only make yourself worse -- you might lose a whole week of classes."

That didn't sound nearly as terrible to Ginny as it apparently did to Hermione, but Ginny made agreeable noises and shuffled off to bed.

Tuesday morning, she stayed in bed with her covers pulled up over her face. Nobody seemed to notice at first, but eventually Susan came over and prodded at her through the blankets. "Gwen and Jia-li already went to breakfast and you're still in bed. Are you sick?"

"Yes," said Ginny, pulling down the covers enough to glare at her. "Go away; I'm sleeping."

"Be that way," snapped Susan. "See if I try to be nice anymore." She stomped off and slammed the door behind her.

"I'll make your excuses to Lockhart and Professor Snape," said Apple, mumbling around a mouthful of hairpins. "You should go see Madam Pomfrey at some point, though, so Professor Snape won't be able to accuse you of shirking." She jabbed several pins into her hair and added, "Besides, I'm sure a draught of Pepperup potion will do you good."

Ginny scowled. "I hate that stuff. It doesn't help anyhow -- she's been making me drink it for weeks and I still feel awful." Which was entirely her own fault, for being stupid enough to let Tom talk her into doing blood magic, but she couldn't tell that to anyone.

"For weeks? And you're still not better..." Apple hummed thoughtfully as she finished pinning up her braid. "In that case, you should definitely see Madam Pomfrey. You're clearly not well, and if the standard remedies aren't working, either you have a serious disease or something's affecting you magically. I'll tell Professor McGonagall--"

"No!" Ginny scrambled upright, panicked. "Don't tell her! And don't tell my brothers -- don't tell anyone!" Apple frowned, and Ginny scrambled for a plausible excuse. "I'm _fine_ , there's no problem, it's just a bad cold. I don't react well to Pepperup potion, that's all. Mum never uses it at home, only chicken soup and hot tea and Cheering Charms and whatnot, and that works fine. Pepperup just makes me feel hot and itchy. _Please_ don't tell anyone; they'll tell Mum and then I'll never hear the end of it. It's only a cold and not sleeping enough."

Apple's frown deepened, but she shrugged and said, "Fine. If you aren't better in three days, though, I'll tell Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and your brother Percy." Ginny winced; Apple nodded in satisfaction. "We understand each other. Now get some rest. I don't like making threats and I'd rather not have to carry through."

How Apple expected her to rest _now_ , Ginny thought grumpily, was beyond comprehension. Fortunately she had no intention of sleeping. Instead, she washed up and dressed as fast as she could, and then crept down to the common room. It was deserted -- everyone was at breakfast or classes -- and she slipped out through the portrait hole.

"You're a bit late, dear," the Fat Lady remarked.

"I'm skipping classes and going to the infirmary," said Ginny. "It's only a cold, so please don't tell my brothers; they'd just worry."

The Fat Lady winked and held a plump finger to her lips. "Cross my heart, dear. It'll be our little secret."

She had quite enough secrets already, Ginny thought as she slipped into an alcove several corridors away and drew out the twins' map. The last thing she needed was more of them. Yet here she was, lying and ending up with nearly twice as much to keep straight and not talk about. She was a horrible person.

It was Tom's fault, but she was still horrible.

She was in luck; Percy wasn't in a lesson yet, and he wasn't in the Great Hall or the library either. Instead, the little black dot with his name was moving steadily along a corridor that led to the Northwest Tower and a whole wing of unused storage rooms. This was perfect. Aside from a collection of dots up at the top of the tower -- a classroom for one of the electives, maybe -- there weren't any other people there, so Percy had no reason to be wandering around that part of the castle.

He was up to something. This time, Ginny was going to find out what.

She hurried through the castle toward the Northwest Tower. Once she ducked down a side corridor to avoid Filch and his mop, and two staircases later she wasted a minute explaining to a Ravenclaw prefect that she'd been in the loo and was late for class, so she didn't have time for a lecture. The prefect took two points instead; normally Ginny would have argued, but she had more important things to worry about at the moment.

Fifteen minutes after she left Gryffindor Tower, Ginny skidded to a breathless halt at the near end of her target corridor. She slipped into the nearest room. It held stacks of rusted cauldrons, piles of tapestries, neatly rolled and tied, and several ranks of unmoving portraits and paintings -- either their spells had worn off, or they were Muggle make and had been taken down in concession to pureblood pride.

Ginny pulled out the map to see if Percy had moved. She was in luck -- he was still in the storage room at the far end of the corridor. And he'd been joined by another person! This dot was labeled 'Penelope Clearwater.' Ginny had never heard of her, which meant she was from another house. Maybe she was a Slytherin, which was why Percy was meeting her in secret. Maybe she knew something about the Heir, or about Tom!

Ginny shoved the map into her bag, sneaked down the corridor, and carefully turned the brass doorknob. Then she peeked into the storage room, wondering what trouble Percy had fallen into. She was ready for anything.

Her mind went blank.

Percy and the girl were kissing.

Percy didn't have the diary. Percy had a _girlfriend_.

Ginny squeaked and stumbled into the room.

Percy let go of Penelope Clearwater and whirled around. "Ginny? What on earth?"

"Oh God," said Ginny, pointing at him. "You-- Percy-- you-- she-- so _that's_ why you're always taking showers and polishing your shoes and wearing cologne and whistling. You've got a girlfriend!" A thought struck her. "Oh! I bet she's the one you were writing to all summer! Oh, I have to tell-"

Percy slammed the door and grabbed Ginny by the shoulders. "Don't you dare tell anyone!" he said, flushing brilliant red around his ears. "If you so much as breathe a word of this to the twins, or to Ron, or even to Mum, I'll..." -- his eyes narrowed, and he looked eerily like one of the twins in a dangerous mood -- "I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey every morning for the next month, I'll tell Professor Sprout you're too ill to participate in her evening Herbology sessions, and I'll send love letters to Harry Potter and sign your name to them."

Ginny nodded in frantic agreement as Percy shook her. "Right, right, I won't tell!"

"Good," said Percy, drawing a deep breath and seeming to regain control of himself. "Now. If you leave this instant, I won't bother asking how you ended up here, or why you've been following me all week -- yes, I noticed. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," said Ginny. She turned to Penelope Clearwater, who'd been watching with a bemused expression. "Nice to meet you, and I'm sorry about interrupting. Erm. Percy's a prat, but he's a good person anyhow, and he's my brother, so be nice to him or I'll tell everyone you were just toying with him. Then you'll have the twins after you for revenge, and nobody wants that." Warning delivered -- family was family, after all -- she escaped before Percy could lose his temper again.

She didn't stop running until she reached Sir Vladislav's alcove. Then Ginny slumped against his pedestal and tried not choke with stifled laughter.

It was too funny! Percy had a girlfriend. Percy -- her stupid brother Percy -- Percy, who couldn't say five sentences to anyone under fifty without irritating people -- _Percy_ had a _girlfriend_. She liked him enough to _kiss_ him! They snuck around in empty rooms like they were star-crossed lovers in a bad Muggle play!

She wished she could tell Tom. He would have had such fun trying to figure out what Penelope Clearwater saw in Percy, and wondering how long she'd be able to put up with him. Ginny could almost hear his whispery voice saying _"It seems your brother has hidden depths, Ginevra,"_ or something like that -- and she'd say "They're awfully well hidden, then," -- and he'd say...

Ginny tangled her fingers into her hair and pulled, hard.

"Tom is evil," she told herself. "Tom is not my friend. I don't want to tell him anything, and anyhow, I promised Percy I'd keep quiet."

Her arms and legs felt heavy, and the chill of the stone floor seeped up through her robes. She was tired and all her good humor had drained away.

"Hi, Sir Vladislav," she said to the suit of armor, which was peering down in a concerned fashion. "Don't mind me -- I'm just having a very strange day. I think I'll go see Madam Pomfrey and ask for more tonic."

Sir Vladislav patted her shoulder as she stood. Ginny hugged one of his greaves, gently, and walked away without looking at Myrtle's bathroom or the vivid red message warning people about the Heir.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny pushed on through the week, somehow managing not to fall asleep in her classes or to tell anyone about Percy and Penelope. That secret was a lot harder to keep than she'd expected -- she'd been keeping secrets all year! -- but this was the sort of secret that was only worth keeping as blackmail. Otherwise it was meant for telling, just to see everybody's reactions.

She wished she could tell Tom.

She skipped the Thursday evening Herbology session, telling Neville she wasn't quite over her cold. Professor Sprout sent her worried looks on Friday and reminded her that next week she was going to do a special demonstration on hybrid plants. Ginny promised to be there unless she got Petrified.

"Don't joke about that," said Xanthe, shaking a trowel at her. "It's tasteless."

"Sorry," said Ginny. It was funny, though, in a horrible way -- she was the one person safe from Tom, at least until he got out of the diary. Then he'd probably kill her first, because she knew too much.

"Are you _sure_ you're all right?" Xanthe asked as they left the greenhouse that afternoon. "If you want to talk about anything, I'll shut up and listen. You do look pale..."

"If one more person tells me I look pale, I'm going to scream," said Ginny. "Then I'm going to _hex_ people. So drop it."

Xanthe held up her hands. "Don't bite my head off -- I'm just worried about you. Friends look out for each other, you know. Every time I think you're settling down, something sets you off again and it bothers me that I don't know how to help!"

"Sorry," said Ginny, meaning it this time. She tugged on a strand of hair and wondered what she could tell Xanthe without explaining everything. "Erm. I'm not good at making friends, I guess. There's a Slytherin, Daphne Rumluck, who hates me -- it's bad, because all the other Gryffindors think she's dead cool, and her cousin Apple is my roommate and she thinks the fight is my fault. My brothers keep driving me nuts. And... and I was reading a book a while ago, and I found a weird incantation and said it out loud, and I think maybe I cast it on myself by accident -- maybe that's why I'm so tired all the time!"

Ginny clamped her mouth shut before she could say anything more incriminating. That was a pathetic story, but maybe she'd get lucky and Xanthe wouldn't push for details. "Mostly it's just that the other Gryffindors don't like me, or they like Daphne better," she added, trying to redirect Xanthe's attention.

Xanthe had a concentrated expression. "Your housemates are silly if they don't like you. That will blow over -- most things do. But an incantation..." She started unraveling her plait, as if her fingers had to keep moving while her mind raced. "What did it say?"

"It's German -- I don't know," said Ginny.

"Drat. If it were Latin I could translate for you, but I don't know German. Madam Pince must have translation dictionaries, though -- or do you know anyone who knows German?"

"Why?" asked Ginny. "It's probably nothing. I bet I just have a cold, or maybe I'm allergic to something in the castle."

"But you thought the spell might be making you tired, and magic's about feelings as much as logic," Xanthe pointed out. Tangled strands of hair fell into her face, and she looked at them in surprise. "When did my plait come loose?"

"You undid it yourself," said Ginny with a smile. "Maybe _you're_ under a spell!"

"I am not!" said Xanthe. "And if it's not Herbology or Potions, I'm always right, you know!"

"You were wrong about Caroline's grandfather," said Ginny, which effectively distracted Xanthe before she got too close to the truth.

Later, though, Ginny dug through her bag and her dresser, looking for the parchment where she'd written the incantation that linked her to Tom. She couldn't remember why she'd kept it, but it might save her now. If she learned what it really said -- she didn't think it was half as harmless as he'd told her -- maybe she could break the link and keep Tom in the diary. She just had to translate it.

Ginny found the scrap of parchment in her trunk and studied it, the harsh words ringing in her mind.

_'Blut zum Blut, Leben zum Leben, Seele zur Seele,_  
 _Ohne Kampf komm' ich zu Euch._  
 _Herz zum Herz, Luft zur Luft, Geist zum Geist,_  
 _Verwenden Sie mich; ich gehöre Euch.'_

It was dark magic, blood magic. She didn't want anyone to see her researching Dark Arts in the library... but she _did_ know someone who spoke German! Ginny stuffed the incantation into her bag, grabbed several loose sheets of parchment, and hurried off to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Sir Vladislav was posing with his sword drawn this evening, instead of saluting or standing at watchful rest. Ginny wondered how she'd managed to see the suits of armor change positions for months and not realized that they had personalities like the portraits. It seemed so obvious in hindsight.

"Hi, Sir Vladislav!" she said. "Thank you for your help with the Valentine -- things didn't work out, but that's because somebody interfered. Anyhow, has anything interesting happened to you lately?" She held out parchment, ink, and a quill, and waited for Sir Vladislav to sheathe his sword and sit on his pedestal.

 _"Hello,"_ he wrote. _"No thing interessting has happened heer. How ar you?"_

"Tired, and I think I know why," said Ginny. "You remember when I had an argument with my friend in the diary? And he turned out to be evil? Well, a while before that, when I thought he was a real friend, I cast a spell to let him share a piece of my life and eventually get out of the diary into a real body."

She looked down at her feet. "I think... I think he's still draining me." The words fell through the air like jagged stones, and she scrambled back from their finality. "I don't know, maybe I'm wrong or just going mad, because memories can't do things like that, right? Only nothing else makes sense and it's the sort of thing Tom would do, isn't it? He said he killed a girl before, so he wouldn't mind killing me, right? Even though he spent months saying he was my friend?" She blinked back a mortifying prickle of tears -- why wasn't she _past_ that sort of thing?

Sir Vladislav rested his gauntlet gently on her shoulder.

"Thanks," said Ginny, pulling out a handkerchief and blowing her nose. "Erm. Anyhow, I can't let him get out, but I don't know where the diary is right now, so I can't... can't kill him. All I can do is try to break the spell so he can't use me anymore."

 _"This sounds danjerus. You shoud tell the professers,"_ Sir Vladislav wrote.

"It wouldn't do any good," said Ginny, flinching over the thought of being expelled for attempted murder. "Anyway, the incantation is in German, so I don't know what it actually says. Will you translate it for me, please?"

Sir Vladislav managed to convey disapproval via the set of his helmet and shoulder-plates, but he held out his hand for the incantation. Then his gauntlet dropped to his sword, as if he wanted to hack something to pieces.

Ginny's heart sank in anticipation while Sir Vladislav scribbled furiously. Her hands shook as she took the parchment and began to read.

_"This is an evil spell, from wenn the Katholiken und die Protestanten ~~miteinander Krieg geführen haben~~ fouht a long war. Sometimes wizards fouht too -- the war happened befor the Decree of Secrets -- and wizards woud take prisoners and brake their minds, their will. This spell ties a prisoner to a wizard, who can read his mind and make him a puppet. It says,_

_"'Blood to blood, life to life, soul to soul,_  
 _With no fite, I come to you._  
 _Heart to heart, breth to breth, mind to mind,_  
 _Use me; I belong to you.'_

_"The old spell sayed 'Ohne Kampf kommst du zu mir,' und 'Ich besitz dich; du gehörst mir,' -- 'You come to me with no fite,' and 'I control you; you belong to me,' -- because the wizard cast it, not the prisoner, but this is the same spell. It is EVIL. I guarded a kastle, and I saw men go mad and kill themselfs wenn they saw wat the wizards had made them to do._

_"Tell the professers. They can help."_

Ginny dropped the parchment. "I can't tell anyone! I _can't_. It's all my fault, and they'll _hate_ me, and I'll get sent to Azkaban and I'll _die_."

 _"Not your fault,"_ Sir Vladislav wrote on another sheet of parchment. _"Remember the spell, that makes you do wat the wizard wants you to do. Any evil thing you did is HIS fault. He controlled your mind and made you to do it."_

"But Tom said--" Ginny started, and then caught herself. "Wait. I know he's evil. I know he's a liar. So why did I believe him when he said _I_ picked the victims? _He_ picked them, and he made sure they were people I was annoyed with, so if I did find out, I'd feel so guilty I wouldn't realize it was all his fault."

 _"Yes,"_ wrote Sir Vladislav. _"Tom is evil. Tell the professers."_

"No. This is my problem -- I got into it because I was stupid, so it's my responsibility to fix things and make sure Tom doesn't hurt anyone else." That was what Harry would do. But she wasn't sure that would convince Sir Vladislav.

 _"Sometimes a duel is not the best anser,"_ Sir Vladislav wrote, but he shrugged with a creak and clash of metal, and clambered back to his feet. He patted Ginny's shoulder and scribbled one last note: _"See if the spell is in the librarie. Then maybe you can brake it. If you can not brake it within a week, I will leav my watch and tell the Headmaster."_

"Do you think I can break this?" asked Ginny as she picked the fallen parchment from the floor. It sounded awfully strong for a first year to mess around with, and a week wasn't very long at all.

Sir Vladislav nodded.

A week was better than nothing, Ginny decided. "Thank you," she said, hugging Sir Vladislav's greaves. Then she stuffed the parchment into her bag and headed for the library. It looked like she'd be researching Dark Arts anyhow.

It took her all of Friday evening to figure out what she was looking for -- a branch of magic called Legilimency -- and to realize she'd have to get into the Restricted Section to learn anything useful. Ginny shut an encyclopedia with a sigh and headed for Gryffindor Tower. She'd missed dinner, but she didn't think she could eat much anyhow, so that was probably just as well.

She stared thoughtfully at the stairs to the boys' dormitory, wondering if she could dash up and find the diary, but Percy climbed in through the portrait hole and gave her such a fierce look that she decided against it. Besides, she was bone-tired and she had a lot to think about.

If Tom were a Legilimens, he could read her mind. Probably he couldn't do that from inside the diary, or not very well, but the incantation gave him an opening. A Legilimens could put things into people's minds or move in and take over like the Imperius Curse. So she wasn't the one who'd Petrified people -- it was her body but not her will. Tom was the true Heir.

It was still her fault for believing him and giving him that opening, but she didn't feel quite as worthless and filthy as before.

She dreamed about dragons that night. One was green and serpentine; the other was the color of flame and soared on vast wings. They twined around each other, hissing, biting, clawing great wounds in each other's sides, but neither could break free -- an iron chain looped around their necks and bound them together.

The princess watched from the side, silent, waiting.

Dreams were horrible, Ginny thought the next morning. She hadn't sleepwalked, at least, but she was sick of the princess and her dragons. If the princess was supposed to be her, then why didn't the idiot _do_ something instead of standing around like a useless lump?

With a firm resolve to find some way into the Restricted Section and to _invent_ a way to break Tom's spell if one didn't already exist, Ginny set out for the library... after a long detour to watch the Slytherin-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, courtesy of the twins, who thought she ought to be a natural Quidditch fanatic. Slytherin won, surprising nobody, and Ginny slipped away when the twins went off to stalk their rival team.

She was poring over a history of magical theory when Xanthe sat down at her table. "Earth to Ginny!" said Xanthe, waving her hand between Ginny's face and the book. "We didn't cancel today's study session, you know, just moved it because of the match."

Ginny blinked her eyes back into focus as she shut her book. "Erm. I forgot, sorry. What are we going over today?"

"Yesterday's lesson," said Xanthe, dryly. "But I understood it, for once, so if you're researching your German incantation, let's work on that instead. Have you found anything?"

Ginny shifted the book to the table corner, aligning it perfectly parallel to the edges with a one inch margin on both sides. She couldn't tell Xanthe! She couldn't tell anyone about Tom! But Xanthe already knew something was wrong, and if Ginny clammed up, she'd get suspicious...

"I got it translated, but I can't do much more without books in the Restricted Section. I've been trying to figure out how to sneak in, but all the ideas I think of are stupid."

"That's because sneaking into the Restricted Section is stupid," said Xanthe. "You should get a pass from a professor instead. I bet Lockhart would give you one if you buttered him up a little -- he wouldn't notice an ulterior motive if it bit his nose."

Ginny laughed. "But he's such a smarmy _git_. I'd get sick if I talked to him long enough to ask him for anything."

"Point." Xanthe chewed on her thumbnail. "I hate to say it, but Professor Sprout likes you. If you tell her you want to research something before her next evening session..." She made a face as if she'd eaten something sour. "I feel dirty for suggesting that."

"But you're right -- it might work," said Ginny, leaning forward. "I do want to read books on hybridization, and some of those are in the Restricted Section -- people can do nasty things with herbs, let alone dangerous plants like Tentaculae -- and if I make sure to do legitimate research while I'm there--"

"Fine, ask her," interrupted Xanthe. "But don't tell me any details -- I don't want to be party to tricks on my head of house. Just, you know, tell me if the incantation is really a problem."

"Don't worry, it's probably nothing," said Ginny. "Anyhow, you may be fine with Herbology, but I want to review syzygy." She pulled out her Astronomy notes and waited until Xanthe started digging through her own bag.

She was grateful for Xanthe's help, but this was her problem. She'd solve it on her own.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny spent most of Sunday sleeping. It worried her how easy it was to let the hours slip away, but she needed rest so she could think clearly and keep people off her back. Besides, Monday started with Double Potions; she needed to be alert in case Daphne tried anything.

Snape seemed to be feeling merciful, or at least less vicious than usual -- Bitterbind Brew, the day's lesson, was one of Arsenius Jigger's example potions, so its complete ingredients and brewing instructions were in the textbook. None of the ingredients were especially slimy, bad-smelling, or otherwise nasty, so Ginny and Electra split the work more evenly than usual. Electra was good at measuring and chopping, when she wasn't being stuck-up or squeamish. She also unbent enough to talk civilly about Saturday's Quidditch match.

"Malfoy's a toad-licking scumbag," said Ginny as she stirred in the nightshade, "but he's not half bad as a Seeker when Harry's not around. He was horrible in the first match -- if you're going to play Quidditch, you ought to play Quidditch, not blather at the other players."

"Nobody spoke to him for days after we lost to you, which he deserved for missing the Snitch right above his own ear," said Electra with a disparaging sniff. "Still, your point margin wasn't that high, and we crushed Hufflepuff, so depending on how you do against Hufflepuff and we both do against Ravenclaw, we might still win the Quidditch Cup.

"In your dreams," said Ginny, but it came out less sharply than usual and Electra just laughed.

Snape declared all the potions tolerable and handed around large glass bottles for storage. "This will be the base for next week's lesson. If any impurities are left from the initial brewing, or if you're careless about sealing the bottles, the consequences will, quite literally, be on your heads." He sneered.

Ginny and Electra exchanged a longsuffering glance, and took great care pouring the Bitterbind Brew into the bottle -- Electra dug a glass funnel from her supplies, and Ginny cast a Sticking Charm on her gloves before picking up the cauldron.

Behind them, Daphne snickered. "Oooh, so scared. Afraid I'll do something to your precious potion, Weasley?"

"Daphne, shut it," snapped Electra, before Ginny could say anything. "I don't care what you do to Weasley out of class, but back off in here! I'm sick of Professor Snape marking me down because of your stupid fight." She jammed the stopper into the bottle, scribbled 'Summers-Weasley' on the label, and marched off to the storage cupboard.

Daphne glared at Electra's back, one hand curled around her wand and the other pressed flat on her worktable. Ruth, her partner, hovered worriedly nearby.

"Well?" said Ginny, setting down the cauldron and unsticking her gloves. "I'll call truce in class if you will."

Daphne snapped around and stared at her. Then, grudgingly, she nodded. "But only here! I haven't forgiven you, not until you apologize. I'm going to make you _grovel_."

Ginny slouched in her seat and smirked. "You can try. But not even my brothers can make me apologize for things that are my fault. I don't think you'll have any luck making me apologize for something that isn't."

Daphne's answering smile was sharp and bright and jarred with her round, pleasant face. "I'll take that bet. You can ask Apple how many times I've lost." Then she grabbed Ruth's arm and strode out of the classroom.

"The answer, by the way," said Apple from behind Ginny's shoulder, "is six bets, out of at least a hundred that I know of. Daphne only bets on sure things, or things she can _make_ sure. And I think, in retrospect, that you two are both at fault for your fight -- Quidditch isn't a solo game, as they say -- so your analysis of the situation is flawed. Besides, you'd get along like a house on fire if you just stopped being idiots for a moment."

"Oh, dry up," said Ginny, leaning down to grab her bag. "There's no way I could be friends with Daphne."

Apple raised an eyebrow. "Really. Then I was simply imagining our ride into Hogwarts last autumn? You seemed friendly to me."

"That was different," Ginny protested, not quite able to meet Apple's eyes. "Anyhow, I'm going to lunch, so stop bothering me."

"For now," agreed Apple, standing aside.

Ginny hurried from the room.

\---------------------------------------------

On Tuesday, she made a pointed effort to act cheerful and awake in Herbology. Xanthe didn't seem to believe the change; she mimed reading a book, and pointed toward Professor Sprout with a guilty expression. Ginny nodded.

After class, she sidled up to Professor Sprout's desk and cleared her throat. "Erm."

"I'm glad you're feeling better," said Sprout, beaming at her. "Can I do anything for you?"

"It's about hybrid plants," said Ginny, tugging on a loose strand of hair. She wrenched her eyes away from the patch of clover behind Sprout's shoulder and met the professor's eyes, trying to seem trustworthy. "See, I'm really interested in them, and I want to do extra reading, but a lot of the books are in the Restricted Section..." She trailed off meaningfully.

Sprout looked delighted. "Extra research on hybrids? That's wonderful! It's been ages since I had a student more interested in crossbreeding than in applications or enhancements. I'll write you a pass; if Madam Pince complains, send her to me." She fished a sheet of parchment from a drawer, tore it in half, and wrote out a pass -- it gave Ginny full access to the Restricted Section for the rest of the week.

Ginny felt like scum.

"Thanks, Professor!" she said, forcing a cheerful tone. "Do you want me to bring any books on Thursday?"

"No, I'm only reviewing the basics and some recent professional papers, but thank you for asking," said Professor Sprout. "I'll do my best to keep the session interesting!"

Ginny smiled, and fled.

After Charms, she avoided Apple and slipped off to the library, not even bothering with lunch. Madam Pince examined her pass with a gimlet eye, but eventually took down one of the plush sashes that marked off the Restricted Section from the rest of the library. "There are reading tables by the wall," she said. "Don't take any of the books past this line or the alarms will sound. Leave them on the cart when you're done and don't reshelve anything yourself -- nobody will ever be able to find anything if you muddle the system."

Madam Pince, decided Ginny, was nearly as much of a killjoy as Snape. She knew perfectly well how to shelve books -- it was all down to the codes on the spine and knowing how to count and say the alphabet in order. Besides, if she left anything other than Herbology books in the cart, it would look suspicious.

She found the reading tables -- empty, except for two seventh year Ravenclaws -- and then checked the guide on the wall to find the Legilimency section. In a stroke of luck, the Herbology section was down the same aisle, right across from the Legilimency books. If anyone looked for her, it would be easy to turn and pretend to be doing legitimate work.

Ginny trailed her finger along the shelves, skimming the titles. There weren't many -- Legilimency wasn't a popular or easy branch of magic -- but... _A History of Legilimantic Abuses_ , by Margaret Lawson, looked promising. And _Coercion: A Study of Legilimency on Willing and Unwilling Subjects_ , by Justinian Falter. And _Blurring Boundaries: The Sister Disciplines of Legilimency and Occlumency_ , by Sophia Greyjoy.

Ginny pulled the three books from the shelf and sat on the carpet, leaning against the Herbology section. She started with the Lawson.

Several hours later, she had an aching back, an unsettled stomach, and a swarm of questions and recriminations flying inside her head.

Legilimency wasn't necessarily a Dark Art, but it was grey at best, and it tipped over the line if you sneezed the wrong way. Some people had a degree of natural defense -- the very dim or scattered were hard to read, and the very stubborn or repressed were often hard to influence -- but a skilled Legilimens could overcome those obstacles. And if the victim agreed to the connection, natural defenses became irrelevant.

She'd let Tom in. She'd practically handed him her soul in gift-wrapping.

The two bright spots were that she hadn't understood what she was doing, which meant that if an invitation was like opening a mental door and welcoming Tom in, she'd only opened hers halfway... and that he was still stuck in the diary, so he couldn't make full use of her invitation. It was like he'd stuck a hand in through the doorway, but couldn't get all the way inside.

Only death or the Legilimens could break a Legilimantic connection. Tom wouldn't let her go. And Ginny didn't know where Harry had put the diary, so destroying it -- killing Tom -- was out of the question right now.

Even if she couldn't break the link, a skilled Occlumens could theoretically pinch a link down to almost nothing -- it would be like slamming the door so Tom's fingers were caught in the frame. He'd still be in her mind, just a little, but he wouldn't be able to do anything.

She just needed to learn a complicated and obscure branch of magic well enough to beat a master of its sister branch, in less than a week.

It was impossible.

But so what! She was a Gryffindor; she had to at least _try_.

She also needed to read about hybridization. Ginny made a sour face. She really was interested in hybrid plants, but reading about crossbreeding now felt like cheating. It was cheating; it was only a cover for her stupid, unforgivable mistake in ever trusting Tom. But she needed results to show Professor Sprout on Thursday. She couldn't leave loose ends or people would figure out everything.

The more she tried to fight Tom, the more things she had to hide. Something was very wrong about that. But it was her fault that he'd Petrified people, so stopping him was her responsibility. She wasn't much use as a hero, not like Harry, but at least she was trying.

Ginny closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts until her mind was filled with nothing but blackness. She pictured a string running from herself to Tom. She imagined scissors cutting through it. She pictured an open door and slammed it.

When she opened her eyes, nothing had changed. She didn't feel the faint tingle of a finished spell, and she was as tired as ever.

Ginny pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, refusing to give in to tears.

\---------------------------------------------

Thursday evening, she stuck her notes on hybridization into her bag and hurried down to the greenhouses. The other first and second years were already sitting together at a table -- Ginny squeezed in next to Neville, on the opposite end of the table from Ruth. Queenie Greengrass smirked over Neville's head as Ginny set her bag on the table, but she didn't say anything out loud.

"Hello everyone!" Sprout said as she bustled in a minute later, trailing a string of floating pots behind her. Their contents were a mixture of everyday herbs and flowers, and some of the oddest plants Ginny had ever seen.

"The one thing these plants have in common," Professor Sprout said, arranging the pots on her desk, "beyond simply being plants, of course, is that they're magically created hybrids. Some of them were so useful or popular that only specialists remember their origins." She pointed to the Flannery's shamrock with its golden, coin-shaped flowers. "Others are a bit more outlandish." The Tentacula Rose waved its thorny tendrils as if in agreement.

"Tonight we're going to discuss the history and purposes of hybridization, as well as several of the more popular methods. Then we'll start a project that should last the next several weeks -- creating your own crossbreeds." Professor Sprout beamed at the students, and then launched into the body of her lecture.

After half an hour, Professor Sprout asked them to pair off for the main project. Ginny grabbed hold of Neville's hand before Queenie could steal him and leave her partnered with Ruth. Neville shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Erm. Professor Sprout says it's a good idea to get to know people outside of our houses. Maybe you should work with Queenie tonight?"

Ginny already spent quite enough time working with Slytherins during Potions. Neville was a bit of a wet blanket, but at least he was a Gryffindor. "No. I don't like her."

"She's nice to me," said Neville, but he didn't argue further.

Professor Sprout had laid out a wide variety of plants for their use. Left to her own devices, Ginny would have chosen the Venomous Tentacula -- she liked plants with personality, especially ones other people thought were creepy or dangerous -- but that probably wouldn't go over well with Neville. She chose dittany instead. Neville hovered indecisively before hoisting a giant sunflower into his arms. "I think shrinking the flower so it's proportionate to dittany stems and leaves will be interesting," he said as he settled the sunflower's pot onto the floor next to a table.

They spent the rest of the evening deciding which characteristics they wanted to emphasize in their crossbreed. That was the other reason Ginny liked working with Neville -- he didn't rush into things or see the world upside-down and inside-out, the way Queenie and Ruth did. When it came to Herbology, she and Neville thought the same way.

She said as much when they stored their plants in a corner and put their cloaks on an hour later. "I like that. We get a lot more done than if we argued all the time." She lit her wand and opened the greenhouse door.

Neville shuffled his feet. "Maybe. But sometimes you have to work with people who don't agree with you. It's a good thing! If you make a mistake, you need somebody to stand up and tell you that you're wrong. I think that's why Professor Sprout likes us to partner outside our houses -- it's too easy to stick up for housemates and stop asking questions."

"But we're not making mistakes," said Ginny, letting the door swing shut. "And sometimes people disagree with you because they're wrong, or because they don't like you, not because you're making mistakes. Besides, we're Gryffindors. If something goes wrong, we fix it instead of pretending everything is all right."

"Maybe," said Neville, but he sounded doubtful. "We should get back to the castle."

They walked back to the common room in silence. Ginny gnawed over Neville's words -- what right did he have to lecture her, when he wasn't a professor, a prefect, or one of her brothers? -- and fumed. She was _not_ going to work with Slytherins just because they might notice a mistake before she did. Maybe Electra wasn't as bad as she'd thought, and maybe Daphne might actually honor their truce, but she wouldn't bet money on either of those.

Slytherin was Tom's house. She didn't trust them an inch.

"I'm sorry I made you angry," Neville said when they reached the entrance, turning so his voice wouldn't carry to the Fat Lady. "It's just -- you're smart and nice and pretty -- you're good at all sorts of things, not like me -- and you shouldn't shut yourself up and try to make everyone hate you. You could have lots of friends." At Ginny's blank stare, he flushed, mumbled the password, and fled across the common room to the boys' dormitory.

"I don't try to make people hate me," Ginny said. "Why would I do that?" She wanted to make friends. She wanted to fix things.

"I'm sure I don't know, dear," said the Fat Lady, "but would you mind either going in or letting me swing shut? I'm a bit squished against the wall."

"Sorry." Ginny scrambled through the portrait hole and hurried up to her room, feeling out of sorts. It wasn't even _her_ room, not really -- not with four other girls sharing the space, casting her curious glances as she changed into her nightdress -- but she pulled the curtains around her bed and pretended she was alone.

She missed the Burrow. Last summer, she hadn't felt out of place. Her family had paid attention to her instead of forgetting that she existed. Her friends had been real friends, not evil, lying traitors. Her mind had been her own.

She wanted to go back to when her life had made sense.

Ginny closed her eyes.

This time, instead of trying to clear her thoughts, she pictured her bedroom at the Burrow. She imagined the mirror on her closet door, the secondhand dresser with its uneven feet, the patchwork quilt on her bed, the stuffed dragon on her pillow, the flowerbox in her window, the family pictures on the walls, afternoon sunlight slanting across the wooden floor -- her room, her place, the heart of her world. She didn't even have to imagine a string tying her to Tom; it snapped into the picture of its own accord, one end wrapped around her wrist, the other running through the open door. It pulsed like a heartbeat, exactly in time with her own.

Ginny grabbed a pair of scissors and tried to cut the string; it refused to fray or snap. She tried to untie it; her fingers slipped off the knot. She bent her head and tried to _bite_ through the string; it filled her mouth with blood -- her heart stuttered and raced -- and she spat it out.

She sat for a minute, recovering her breath, staring at the darkness visible through her half-open doorway. Somewhere out there, Tom was waiting. He was laughing at her.

He could go to hell.

In the room at the heart of her mind, Ginny stood and walked to the door. Each step was harder than the last, pushing against the weight of Tom's magic, feeling the hooks of his thoughts tear into her will. She refused to fall down. She refused to stop. Gryffindors didn't give up.

"You think you're going to win," she whispered as she leaned against the doorframe of her mind. "Maybe you've always won before, but this time, you're wrong."

In her mind's eye, Ginny reached out and slammed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been ever-so-slightly revising these chapters as I post them here. Mostly this takes the form of removing italics and changing some punctuation choices that were, in retrospect, a bit weird, but I have also rephrased some sentences here and there. And in this chapter, I added two paragraphs to acknowledge Ron's birthday, which I somehow managed to completely overlook back in 2007. (I also added a brief mention of Percy's summer letter-writing habits. Ginny references that in canon dialogue at the end of CoS, so it makes sense for her to make that connection here.)
> 
> And now you know why I let Sir Vladislav become an actual supporting character! Once I'd written an incantation in German (which I did for two reasons: first, German is cool and the only non-English language in which I _could_ write such a thing, and second, I thought Latin would be too easy for a witch to translate, given how ubiquitous it is in everyday spells) I needed a way to translate it. Why _not_ a Teutonic Knight's enchanted suit of armor? It's probably also thematically appropriate to have a well-meaning enchanted object (Sir Vladislav) to mirror against an evil enchanted object (Tom), but mostly I was thinking about the incantation.


	12. Into the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Twelfth: In which Ginny wrestles with moral dilemmas and fails to reach any satisfactory conclusions. Attempting to protect Harry and claim responsibility for what she unleashed, she recovers Tom's diary, but that proves a nearly fatal mistake.

The moment she opened her eyes, Ginny sagged with exhaustion and only barely managed to crawl under the covers before falling asleep. She slept straight through until noon, panicked, and rushed to the hospital wing for a checkup. "There's nothing wrong with you," said Madam Pomfrey, "but if you don't stop wearing yourself down, this may well happen again. Eat more, dear; you're still too pale."

Ginny mumbled agreement and hid in the library until dinner.

"We nearly thought you had been Petrified," Apple told her that evening. "Susan shook you and slapped your cheek, but you didn't so much as blink. I had to call a prefect to keep them from saying the Heir had put you under a spell."

"Thanks, I suppose," said Ginny. The irony, of course, was that she'd broken Tom's spell... unless he'd tricked her again. What if he was only hiding, waiting for her to let down her guard?

Paranoia could go around in circles forever, Ginny decided as she sliced her roast beef. She'd shut the door on Tom -- for the first time in weeks she didn't feel tired -- and there was no sense driving herself mad over maybes. She'd just try to get on with her life.

The next few days were blessedly quiet. Ginny threw herself into lessons with renewed energy and attempted, awkwardly, to improve her friendships with Xanthe and Neville. The lessons went well; the friendships less so. The one time she got Neville into an actual conversation, Fred and George wandered over, leaned on his shoulders, and demanded to know his intentions toward their "ickle baby sister -- can't be too careful these days, you know! Anyone could be the Heir in disguise!"

"Don't listen to them, they're idiots," she told Neville, but he shrank into himself and stopped speaking to her outside of the greenhouses. Ginny fumed.

Meanwhile, Xanthe kept nagging Ginny for the results of her research. Ginny insisted it had been nothing and she was obviously better now. Xanthe looked skeptical, but eventually dropped the subject. She also pulled away a bit -- more focused on her work and less on just hanging around. Ginny couldn't quite blame her, not when she was being so obvious about shutting Xanthe out... but even so, it wasn't fair.

Stupid Tom. She'd finally got rid of him and he was _still_ ruining her life.

"I hate Tom Riddle," Ginny wrote on a scrap of parchment as she sulked in the dormitory. "I hate him I hate him I hate him. I wish he would DIE!"

Ginny stared at the words. The green ink lay inert on the parchment, glistening in the candlelight, and began to dry into a flatter, less liquid shade. It didn't sink down or reshape into new words in a different hand.

"I'm lying," she whispered after a minute. She didn't want Tom to die. She wanted him not to be evil. She wanted to erase the whole year, back to summer when everything had seemed so bright and new. She'd been scared of not making friends, of not fitting in, hadn't she? Such little things to worry about.

The dry ink mocked her. Silly little girl, stuck in the past -- poor Ginevra Weasley, so twisted up she thought a murderous diary would be her friend.

"I can do this," Ginny told herself. "I don't need Tom." She held the parchment over a candle until it caught fire, singeing her fingers as she dropped the scraps out the window.

She just needed to try harder.

\---------------------------------------------

In early April, Neville was distracted and useless through an entire evening Herbology session, dropping pots and botching spells for no apparent reason. Ginny finally excused them early and hauled him to the common room for interrogation. "You're not ill, are you?" she asked. "Talk to me. If my brothers are hounding you--"

Neville looked miserable, but he shook his head. "They're not. Easter's coming so all the second years have to choose our subjects for next year, and I don't know what to do. All my relatives have sent letters, but they all contradict each other -- I can't make them all happy -- the subjects all sound complicated and I'm terrible at anything difficult. Whatever I do, it'll come out wrong."

He slumped gloomily in his armchair, and nothing Ginny said could change his mind or cheer him up. Eventually she lost her temper. "Pick subjects out of a hat if you can't make up your mind! And _dry up_ , or I'll ask Professor Sprout for a new partner -- I don't care that none of the others are as good as you!" she said, and stomped off to bed.

Neville spent the next week asking everyone in Gryffindor for their advice, but at least he didn't moan about his shortcomings. Ginny considered it a small victory and made a point of smiling at him, especially when Ron and Harry were around. Ron was nearly as big a drip about the whole mess as Neville had been, and Ginny was embarrassed twice over every time he complained.

"It occurs to me," Apple said on Friday, "that it would save a lot of bother to look over the subjects now so we won't be caught by surprise next year." She stared thoughtfully at the knot of second years huddled around a table and muttering at each other.

"Good point," said Ginny, and sidled up to Hermione, who was watching Ron and Harry with a sort of smug despair. "Can I pinch your list? You've already signed up for everything, so it's not as if you need it."

Hermione looked skeptical. "What are you up to? This won't be your problem until next year, and I hope you make more sensible choices than these two are managing." Ron scowled and muttered under his breath; Harry just sighed and slumped further over his own list.

"That's the idea," said Ginny. "If we look over the subjects now, it won't be a problem next year." She held out her hands. "Help me out? Please?"

Hermione laughed and passed her a folded sheet of parchment. Ginny grinned.

Apple copied the subjects and presumably handed them round to anyone who asked; Ginny didn't much care. She took the original list to Xanthe on Saturday, and they spent the afternoon wondering what the point of Ancient Runes was, or why anyone would think Muggle Studies wasn't important. "People our age are better with Muggle clothes than grown-ups, but I bet you don't know how to use the post or a telephone," said Xanthe. "It's all kinds of backwards to look down on Muggle-borns for not fitting into our world when most of us couldn't fit into theirs any better, you know."

Ginny agreed. Then she made Xanthe explain telephones.

April slipped away without further incident, and Ginny almost dared to hope that she'd seen the last of Tom. Harry was holding out much better than she'd managed to do, even if he hadn't caught on and destroyed the diary. But deep down she knew it wasn't over. She could still feel Tom prowling the edges of her mind, and she couldn't break their mental connection unless he agreed to let her go.

She was his link out of the diary. He'd never release her. If she wanted to be free -- if she wanted to keep everyone safe -- she'd have to kill him.

Ginny tried not to think about that.

Classes and Daphne helped distract her. Although Daphne held to their impromptu truce during Potions, she took to tripping Ginny in the corridors and slipping nasty jokes into her bag instead, so Ginny had to keep her guard up all the time. She managed to talk her way out of trouble when Daphne stole a three-foot essay for Herbology -- there were benefits to being Professor Sprout's favorite -- but she wasn't as lucky when a set of Dungbombs exploded during Charms.

"You know better than this, Miss Weasley," said Professor Flitwick when he assigned her detention. "Please don't follow your brothers' example."

Ginny bit her tongue and promised she wouldn't take the twins as role models. She wasn't even lying; if and when she got revenge on Daphne, _no one_ would be able to connect it to her. It was one thing for Fred and George to own up to their jokes -- they never quite crossed the line that would _really_ get them in trouble -- but that sort of trick wasn't enough to pay Daphne back at this point.

"I hope you've noticed that I'm not groveling at your cousin's feet," Ginny told Apple in early May. "That makes seven bets she's lost."

Apple shook her head as the first years filed out of History of Magic. "Daphne never said when you'd grovel. You're trying to prove a negative, which is impossible; you can't win unless you die without apologizing. Until then the bet remains undecided."

"That's cheating!"

"It's careful phrasing." Apple smiled. "In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised that Daphne ended in Slytherin. She's always been clever like that."

"There's a difference between being clever and being a toad-licking weasel," Ginny said fiercely, and stomped off to throw stones in the lake, which Xanthe had suggested as a way to control her temper. So far, it was working; Ginny hadn't mended any old quarrels, but she hadn't got into any new ones since March, either.

She seethed as she kicked gravel along the shore. She was doing everything right -- she'd shut Tom out, she was being polite to her housemates, she wasn't even fighting back against Daphne -- but nothing was going her way. The other Gryffindors still didn't like her, Daphne wouldn't let up, and Tom...

It was all Tom's fault, Ginny decided. If Tom hadn't faked being her friend, she would have spent more time talking to Susan and the boys and then they might have stayed on her side instead of getting fooled by Daphne. If Tom hadn't egged her on, she wouldn't have spilled pumpkin juice on Daphne and then Daphne might have ignored her instead of always making her life miserable. If Tom hadn't sounded so reasonable, she would have noticed sooner that there was something wrong about her dreams and the way she was always tired, and then... and then nobody would be Petrified.

"I wish I'd never met him," muttered Ginny, and that, at least, was the absolute truth. She hurled another stone over the water. It sank with a deep, solid thunk, but the choppy surface swallowed the ripples with barely a trace. After a second, she couldn't be sure where it had landed.

Her life felt like that. Nothing she did mattered. She tried and tried, but Colin was still in hospital -- Daphne hated her -- nobody liked her -- and Tom was still there, just waiting for her to lose her grip on the door of her mind.

She _had_ to get rid of the diary. She _had_ to kill him.

It wasn't evil to kill monsters, right?

Ginny walked back up the hill and threaded her way past clots of students to the Gryffindor common room. Most people were in classes, in the library, or outside -- it was a beautiful sunny afternoon -- and the few people in the common room didn't even look up as she climbed through the portrait hole.

Ginny walked up the stairs to the boys' dormitories without bothering to look inconspicuous.

The second years' room was at the top of the stairs, and she found Harry's bed by process of elimination -- Dean had left a sketchpad and a set of pencils on his quilt; Seamus had stuck pictures of his family round the window by his cabinet; Neville's Remembrall was lying, forgotten, in his open trunk; and Ron, of course, had a poster of the Chudley Cannons pinned over his headboard. Harry's slice of the room was tidy and bland, as if he didn't want to give away anything about himself.

Ginny shut the door, not stopping to let second thoughts catch up. She checked under Harry's pillow, and pulled the covers and sheets off his bed in case he'd hidden Tom under the mattress. She yanked the drawer out of his cabinet and dumped the contents onto his bed. She pulled his cloak down from its hook, tearing it in her haste, and checked the pockets.

No diary.

She paused for a second to catch her breath, then pulled Harry's trunk from under his bed. " _Alohomora_ ," she muttered, stomping down a surge of guilt. She didn't have time to be polite.

The lock sprang open and Ginny plunged her hands into Harry's trunk. She grabbed books by the wrong sides and tore pages out in her haste. She tossed Harry's clothes aside when they fell from their neat piles. She smashed a bottle of ink and ignored the stains.

At the bottom of the trunk, her fingers touched a small, leather-bound book. She didn't need to look at the cover.

It was Tom. She could feel him.

Ginny stuffed the diary into her bag, wiped her fingers on Harry's clothes, and did her best not to run or look suspicious until she'd descended the stairs, walked across the common room, and climbed out through the portrait hole. Hurrying would make people notice her. Hurrying would make people remember.

She managed to walk for another hundred feet, until she'd turned two corners, before she couldn't control herself anymore.

Ginny ran.

It felt like hours later when she finally stumbled to a halt, tripping on a rough spot in the floor and catching herself on a convenient wall. Her sides burned, and sweat plastered stray wisps of hair to her face. Ginny closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing.

Finally she steadied herself and looked up, wondering where on earth she was. Candlelight flickered on dingy walls, and weak sunlight filtered in through a dust-streaked window to her left, but she didn't see any portraits or doorways to use as landmarks. Then the scent of mildew and stagnant water, and the soft drip of condensation into a shallow puddle, broke through her confusion. Ginny turned, and yes, there were the dingy stalls and the line of lime-stained sinks.

She'd run to Myrtle's bathroom.

Maybe she should throw the diary into a toilet again? No, she needed something more permanent, more drastic. Water hadn't worked. What about fire?

Ginny closed her eyes and made sure she remembered the incantation and gestures. Then she dropped Tom's diary onto the floor, and raised her wand.

Her hand shook.

" _Incendio_ ," she tried to say, but her throat closed on the word. Instead of a firm downward flick, her hand fell slowly to her side.

She couldn't do it. Not like this. This was murder, like stabbing someone in the back. She had to face Tom, had to do this honestly instead of while he was asleep and helpless.

She had to ask him _why_.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done," Ginny told herself, but she pulled ink and a quill from her bag. She wasted nearly a minute sharpening the quill point and drying off a windowsill so she'd have a flat place to rest the diary. She spent another two minutes checking all the stalls and calling Myrtle's name to make sure the ghost wasn't spying on her. But she couldn't delay forever.

"I should just burn him. It doesn't matter why he's evil; all that matters is stopping him," Ginny muttered as she inked her quill. This was stupid. She knew Tom was a monster.

But he was still a person, too. Even though he'd betrayed her, he'd been her friend.

Ginny opened the diary. "Tom?" she wrote. "Are you there?"

Mist boiled up from the pages, twisting and shaping into a body floating cross-legged in front of her. _"Hello, Ginevra,"_ said Tom in a whispery voice. _"What changed your mind about ignoring me?"_ His smile was knife-sharp and something jagged and nasty lurked behind his eyes, as if she were a fly and he thought it might be interesting to pull off her wings.

Ginny flinched. She could hear him. Obviously she hadn't done as good a job closing the link as she'd hoped. But she could worry about that later.

"I wanted to tell you I took the diary back, so you can't get at Harry anymore," she said, setting down her quill. "That's all."

Tom's smile widened. _"Oh, I doubt that. His unavailability would have become obvious over time without any announcement. I think you simply couldn't bear to forego my company, Ginevra. You have so few friends, after all."_

"I have friends! I have Xanthe and Hermione and Neville, and my brothers, and Caroline and Anne a little bit, and maybe Colin when he wakes up again, and I'd have even more friends if you hadn't twisted me up so I did everything backwards in September!" said Ginny. She took a deep breath, trying to slow down. "I though _you_ were my friend, Tom. You were my best friend. I wanted to help you; you didn't have to trick me. I would've let you borrow my body if you'd asked. But you lied to me. You made me hurt people! How could you pretend to be my friend if you didn't care about that? Why do you want to Petrify people? Why did you frame Harry? He never did anything to you! Nobody here did anything to you! Petrifying people isn't even revenge -- it's just _evil_. Tom, _why?_ "

Her hands were stretched out, pleading. Please, let him have a reason. Let this all be a horrible mistake.

Tom laughed.

Inside Ginny, something broke.

_"Why?"_ repeated Tom. _"Because I can, and because I want to. It's not a question of good or evil, just power and will. I take what I want; the desires of the weak are irrelevant. As for Harry Potter... I think I'll keep at least one secret for now, Ginevra. Suffice it to say that your precious Harry HAS done something to me, for which I want revenge. I'm not nearly finished with him yet."_

"I won't let you touch him," snarled Ginny, raising her wand. "I'll kill you first."

_"I think not, Ginevra,"_ said Tom, leaning forward to seize the tip of her wand. _"You may have an unexpected gift for Occlumency, but you have no sense of strategy. You've reopened our link and I doubt you can block me when I'm actively resisting your efforts."_ He pressed down, forcing Ginny to lower her wand or see it snapped in half. _"You see? You caught me by surprise before, but this time..."_ He trailed off with a triumphant note in his voice.

Blackness crept up from the corners of Ginny's vision. Dizziness sloshed through her head.

"You can't use me anymore," she said, gritting her teeth and yanking her wand out of Tom's grasp. "I won't let you."

Tom grabbed her shoulders instead, keeping her close. _"You have no way to stop me. I know what spells are running through your mind, and I assure you none of them will have any effect. You're far too weak to be more than a minor nuisance to me. Now be a good girl and let me in. You've delayed my next move long enough."_

Cold, boneless fingers squirmed inside her head. Ginny gagged, slumping over the diary. Tom could read her mind. She couldn't fight him; he'd counter anything she tried before she could open her mouth. Tears prickled in her eyes and the pages blurred, Tom's last words fading as she watched.

Wait. Tom had been talking. There was no reason for the diary to echo his words, unless...

Ginny slammed the diary shut before the thought had finished forming.

Tom hissed something wordless and furious -- his fingers closed on her throat -- Ginny gasped for breath -- and he began to thin and fade, seeping back into the book. _"This isn't over, Ginevra,"_ he said.

"I know," said Ginny, pointing her wand at him just in case. "But I beat you before, I beat you this time, and I'll keep on beating you until I figure out how to get rid of you forever. I'm not a hero, not like Harry, but you're _my_ problem and I won't let you win."

Tom threw back his head and laughed until he was gone. The sound bounced around the tiled walls of the bathroom, mocking Ginny even after she was sure the noise had faded and she was only imagining the echoes.

"It's not funny," she told the diary. "None of this is funny -- if you think it is, you couldn't ever have been a real friend. And if you don't care about that, you're stupid, too. So there."

Only silence answered.

Gingerly, using only the tips of her fingers, Ginny shoved the diary into her bag. She'd figure out what to do after tomorrow's Quidditch match. In the meantime, all she could do was pretend she was fine.

\---------------------------------------------

That night, Ginny dreamed.

_They stood in the ruined castle, facing each other in a vast, pillared chamber whose air crackled with half-wakened power. The dragon wound around the dark man, shielding him in its coils, and the princess shivered in betrayal._

_-Why struggle, my lady? Why deny our vengeance? The castle is shattered and you are alone; why turn from balancing the scales?- The dark man's voice was like silk, twining through the air, binding her in place._

_-This is my kingdom,- the princess said. -This is my castle. You killed my people. Your vengeance is not mine. Leave.-_

_The dark man smiled, and shadows dripped from his hands to curl about her feet and ankles. -Ah, my lady, each time I struck I asked your favor, and each time you granted it. You cannot renounce me so lightly. See, I only live to serve. I protect you from the consequences of your choices-_

_-Let me go!- she said, and she searched for light to dispel the dark, but her heart was full of shadows and guilt. The dark man's bonds wrapped tighter and tighter around her until all she could do was watch as he led the dragon away._

_-Sleep well, my lady,- he said, and his words hissed and echoed from the shattered stones. -Come the morning, all our enemies will be overthrown, so sleep, and dream of me.-_

_Ropes of shadow held her hands and guilt tripped her feet, but her eyes were open and her tongue was her own._

_Slowly, the princess struggled to follow._

\---------------------------------------------

There was light, and shadow, and bones and snakeskin on the uneven floor. Her hands were filthy and _someone else_ was moving her legs, walking down the dank corridor, raising her wand to light the way.

Tom. She'd let him in. She'd opened the door and talked to him and now he was going to use her to wake his basilisk and kill Harry and--

No. He couldn't win. She wouldn't let him.

She scrabbled for control, raised her hands, tangled her feet. This was her body. He had no _right_. "Get out of me! Get out get out get out!" Her voice sounded wrong in her ears, twisted, hissing. She hadn't spoken English.

He laughed, deep and rough in her throat and chest. Something cold shoved her down.

Darkness.

\---------------------------------------------

_They led the dragon through hidden ways, into the upper floors where the traitors lurked. The dark man guided the beast behind the walls, whispering words of power._

_-The knight will stop you,- the princess said._

_-The knight is blind,- said the dark man, smiling. -We strike from the shadows, unseen until the moment of death. Who can unriddle our secrets? Who can stand against a dragon? Tell me, my lady, where is your protector?-_

_She held her tongue._

\---------------------------------------------

The Great Hall was nearly empty; everyone had finished breakfast and was heading out to the Quidditch pitch. Harry would be safe. Not even Tom could sneak a basilisk over the open ground between the castle and the pitch.

As Tom used her eyes to search the room, Ginny bit her tongue to keep from shoving his failure in his face. Tom was evil. Maybe he wouldn't care about all the people he'd kill going after Harry. She had to keep him inside the castle, had to keep him distracted until she could shut him out.

Her left hand clutched the diary against her side.

Slowly, carefully, she pried one finger loose. Then a second.

"None of that, Ginevra," her voice said. "Stop struggling; you know it's useless."

Darkness.

\---------------------------------------------

_-Where are your knight's companions, my lady? Where are the fool and the scholar? Have they gone to watch the tourney?-_

_The dark man's voice wreathed around her like smoke, like silk, like lightning. The dragon curled around her legs._

_She held her tongue._

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny blinked. In front of her, Madam Pince scowled down at a battered book and said, "Miss Granger left a minute ago, in such a hurry that she _threw_ a book onto the return cart. I've never seen her have such disrespect for books -- spines will be broken if she isn't careful!"

"Did she say where she was going?" asked Ginny's voice.

"To the Headmaster's office," said Madam Pince, turning the book over in her hands.

"Thanks," said Tom, and turned Ginny's body toward the door.

Her fingers still clutched the diary and she could hear something large and scaled moving behind the wall as her body walked down the corridor. Ginny didn't dare try taking her body back. She couldn't reveal herself to Tom. Not yet.

"If anyone could figure out the pattern, it would be that Mudblood," said her voice, with a strange, sibilant overtone. Tom, talking to himself. "It's probably nothing -- she must have thought of a new approach to an essay, nothing more -- but nevertheless, striking at her will hurt Potter." Her body stopped at a large stone grate; her arm extended. " _Evanesco_ ," said her voice, and her head turned aside.

A massive snake slid heavily to the floor, coiling around her and staring down the corridor. _"Prey, Master,"_ it hissed to itself. _"Let me rip, tear, kill! So long without, so long. Alone. Dark. Hungry, thirsty, empty. Let me kill, Master. Let me, let me, let me!"_

"Do as you will," said Tom, twisting Ginny's voice into inhuman shapes. The basilisk shivered and rasped down the corridor, faster and faster.

Around the corner, two voices argued in low tones.

"Hermione!" called Tom, sliding back into English. "Hermione, is that you? I've been looking all over for you -- I need to ask you something about Transfiguration!"

"Ginny?" said Hermione, and footsteps clattered toward the corner, approaching the monster. The snake raised its head; its tongue flickered between its teeth.

Now.

"Basilisk!" Ginny shrieked, tearing her voice back from Tom. " _BASILISK!_ "

_-You IDIOT!-_

Darkness.

\---------------------------------------------

_-What. Have. You. DONE?-_

_The dark man's voice was harsh, like scales on stone, like a knife scraping from a sheath, and the dragon curled around her legs like iron._

_But she had found steel of her own._

_-This is my castle,- the princess said. -My mind, my body, my soul. You have no place here. You have no power here but what you trick or steal from me. I renounce you. I deny you. I cast you out.-_

_As she spoke, light welled from the stones and forced the dark man back. The dragon slunk away, back to its lair. A great door swung shut, locking the dark man away._

_And the shadows withered like dew in the morning sun._

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny found herself on her hands and knees in Myrtle's bathroom, facing the sinks and panting as if she'd just run twenty miles or lifted a great weight. Tom's diary lay on the tiles, just beyond her fingertips.

Ginny hastily untied her shoes, pulled off her socks, and shoved them onto her hands as makeshift gloves. _Then_ she picked up the diary and stuffed it into her bag. She didn't dare touch it directly.

She dropped the socks into her bag, wrapped her arms around her knees, and rocked back and forth on the cold tile floor. "Oh god, oh god, oh god." It was all her fault. She'd tried to talk to Tom, like a stupid crybaby. She'd let him back in and she hadn't shut him out again. She should have done the Occlumency trick again no matter how much she'd wanted to avoid thinking about him.

How stupid could she get? How many people were going to get hurt -- how many people might _die_ \-- before she stopped being a coward?

"Oh god, Hermione!" Ginny jammed her shoes on and lunged for the door.

Had Hermione understood her warning? Basilisks could kill -- it was practically a miracle nobody had died yet. If Hermione hadn't run, if she'd looked at the basilisk straight on, if she hadn't been fast enough to avoid its teeth...

Ginny ran down the corridor, past a startled Sir Vladislav, and dashed upstairs to the library. Snape and Madam Pince stood outside the doors, talking in strained voices.

"--onto the cart and said she was going to see Headmaster Dumbledore," said Madam Pince. "I've told you five times already! I don't know anything else."

"You aren't listening," hissed Snape, sweeping one arm outward in a frustrated gesture. "Did Granger leave the library with Clearwater or did they meet in the corridors? We need to reconstruct events as precisely as possible."

Madam Pince sniffed. "Miss Granger was alone when she spoke to me. I don't know when Miss Clearwater joined her; I wasn't watching them. I was attempting to salvage the poor, abused book -- to which, if you will _kindly_ excuse me, I must return."

Ginny hung back around the corner, hoping desperately that Madam Pince wouldn't mention that she -- no, that Tom, in her body -- had come in just after that and asked about Hermione.

Or maybe it would be best if Madam Pince did remember. Then Snape would accuse Ginny and they'd catch Tom. She'd be expelled, and they'd snap her wand, and probably throw her in Azkaban... but maybe that was worth it, if they could stop Tom. She deserved to suffer for letting him hurt people.

She should go confess, right now.

She should.

Her feet refused to move.

"Did anything else happen after Granger left the library, but before Vector found the bodies?" Snape asked, in the tone of voice that usually preceded detentions and massive point deductions.

Madam Pince folded her arms and glared. "No! Nothing! I've told you and told you--" She paused. "Wait. Another student asked about Miss Granger, but I don't remember who. I suppose it was someone who uses the library, since she sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps it was Miss Clearwater, who then went to meet Miss Granger." Madam Pince shrugged. "Or perhaps it was someone else. I don't know. I wasn't looking at her."

"Pitiful," said Snape. "Two students Petrified right outside your room, and all you can think of is your books. We're meant to keep order in the whole school, not just our private domains, but if you're too small-minded to realize that, I suppose there's no hope getting any sense from you."

He stalked off in a swirl of black robes, scowling horrifically. Ginny shrank back against the wall as he passed.

"Miss Weasley." Snape stopped and looked at her as if she were a beetle contaminating one of his potions. "Eavesdropping, I see, and in a temporarily restricted area. Five points from Gryffindor."

"Sorry, sir," Ginny whispered. "Erm. Is Hermione all right?"

"She's Petrified. Naturally she is not 'all right,'" snapped Snape. "But she and the other girl aren't dead, if that's what you were attempting to ask. Now leave, unless you want detention."

"Yes, sir," said Ginny, and fled.

Hermione was Petrified, and another girl. Somebody called Clearwater? Wasn't that Percy's girlfriend's name? Percy was going to go mental. Ron and Harry were going to go mental. And it was all her fault.

Maybe Hermione had heard her warning -- maybe that was why they hadn't died -- but it was still Ginny's fault. She was the one who couldn't kill Tom. She was the one who was such a selfish coward she couldn't confess.

She headed to Gryffindor Tower, hoping to find a moment alone to think, but the corridors were choked with people walking in tight huddles and talking in hushed voices. Ginny found the other Gryffindor first years and eavesdropped shamelessly.

Apparently the Quidditch match had been canceled. Nobody knew why, but Professor McGonagall had told everyone to go to their common rooms and wait for explanations.

"Why would they cancel the match?" Gwen wondered. "I've _never_ heard of a canceled match -- not even for dragon attacks."

"That's professional Quidditch, stupid. Schools are different," said Jasper. "Obviously something's gone wrong."

"I bet it's the Heir," said Danny.

Jia-li shuddered and Gwen punched Danny's shoulder. "Stop trying to scare people," she ordered. "It can't be the Heir -- Professor Lockhart chased him off!"

"It could so be the Heir. Harry Potter's still here, isn't he?" Danny shot back. "Checkmate," he added as they reached the portrait hole.

"Yes, he's at Hogwarts. He was also out on the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the school, where we would have noticed people being Petrified," said Apple as they climbed into the common room. "If there was an attack just now, it must have occurred inside the castle. I don't think even Harry Potter can be in two places at once."

"It could have been a fake Harry Potter outside," Susan volunteered, stepping up to stand beside Danny. "There's all kinds of disguise spells, right?"

Apple folded her arms and frowned. "Your logic is backwards. You're starting with a theory and jamming the facts around it instead of building a theory that fits the facts. Disguise spells are upper year magic, and anyway, I doubt Harry Potter would send a doppelganger to play Quidditch for him. Everyone would notice that the imposter couldn't play as well."

"But the fake didn't have to play -- the match was called off," argued Danny.

Apple's frowned deepened to disgust. "You're acting like idiots. And this is a pointless argument -- we don't know what happened, and we won't until Professor McGonagall tells us. I'm going upstairs to wait. Somebody call me down when she gets here."

She stalked off towards the girls' dormitory. After a moment, Ginny followed her.

"It was the Heir," Ginny said softly as she closed the door behind them. "Hermione and some other girl were Petrified near the library. I heard Snape talking to Madam Pince."

Apple turned her scowl on Ginny. "You couldn't reveal this where the others could hear? I thought you'd take advantage of the opportunity to defend Harry Potter. You fancy him, after all, and you're intelligent enough to know he can't be behind this nonsense."

"I don't want to talk to anyone else," snapped Ginny, stung by Apple's scorn. "They're idiots, like you said. And Hermione's my friend -- excuse me for being upset!"

Apple's face softened a fraction. "I'm sorry. I forgot that you know her more than we do. If you want to be alone, I'll go read on the staircase."

"Thank you," Ginny said, and sat on her bed, pulling the curtains shut around her. After a moment, she heard the door click shut.

Hermione was Petrified. It was Ginny's fault.

Ginny wrapped her arms around her legs and shook.

\---------------------------------------------

Quidditch was canceled until further notice. All other extracurricular activities were canceled, unless they could be squeezed into the afternoons under a professor's or prefect's supervision, so evening Herbology sessions were gone, too. Professors and prefects would escort students from one lesson to another, so nobody wandered the halls alone. Everyone had to be back in their house common rooms and dormitories by six o'clock, and no one was allowed to leave except for serious injury or violent illness, in which case a prefect had to escort the sick person to the infirmary.

"It's an utter mess," Susan concluded, as the first year girls sat on their beds and tried to make sense of the situation.

"But we know that Harry Potter isn't the Heir," Jia-li said softly, twisting a strand of black hair around her fingers. "Lee Jordan is right -- no Slytherins have been attacked, but we've lost two Gryffindors and our House ghost. The Heir must be in Slytherin."

"Circumstantial evidence," said Apple, without looking up from her copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_.

Susan threw a crumpled sheet of parchment at her. "Oh, dry up. We're agreeing with you, aren't we? Why can't you stop rubbing in how much cleverer you are than everyone else?"

Apple set down her book and smoothed out the parchment. "We're Gryffindors, but courage is meaningless without a good cause. I want to make sure we don't charge off in the wrong direction, and if that means I have to stand up and call you an idiot, then I will. It's the right thing to do." She looked down at the parchment. "Also, judging by your marks on this essay, I am more intelligent than you."

"Stuck-up cow," Susan muttered, but when Gwen, Jia-li, and Ginny frowned at her, she threw up her hands. "Oh, fine! I won't accuse anyone of anything without your permission, Your Honor."

"You're still misinterpreting me," Apple said, but she handed back the essay without further comment.

Gwen shifted the conversation to what might happen to the Quidditch Cup if the rest of the matches were canceled, and Ginny felt free to shut her curtains and ignore them.

It was harder to ignore the jumble in her mind. She'd stuffed the diary at the bottom of her trunk, wrapped the diary in an old jumper. She'd slammed the door in her mind and dragged imaginary furniture across the doorway. She'd tried to piece together Tom's latest actions from the scattered fragments of awareness: most of the morning was lost in blackness and a vague impression of stone walls and a dragon, but she knew how the basilisk moved around the castle now -- in the massive drains and heating vents between the walls.

She had almost convinced herself to confess.

Professor Dumbledore was a good man. Everyone trusted him. _Harry_ trusted him. And he'd let Hagrid stay on at Hogwarts even after he'd been expelled, so maybe he'd find a way to help her, too. Maybe he'd understand why Ginny had waited so long to confess, instead of accusing her of being Tom's accomplice.

Tomorrow she'd find Dumbledore and explain everything. He had defeated Grindelwald, one of the two most powerful dark wizards in the past century. He could handle Tom.

And she would be free.

With that resolution, Ginny slept.

She dreamed of dragons, green and red, locked in an endless struggle... and chained to stone pillars, trapped deep underground. They snapped and snarled, opening and reopening old wounds, but finally the princess seemed to share Ginny's frustration with the fruitless repetition of their war. She stood from her passive place against the wall, walked past the ragged talons and the bloody, slavering jaws, and vanished into a misty distance beyond the dragons' reach.

She didn't look back once.

\---------------------------------------------

Apparently the professors and prefects hadn't worked out the details of their new responsibilities, because nobody was waiting to escort people down to breakfast. Maybe they assumed everyone would travel in groups voluntarily, or maybe they'd simply forgotten that some people got up at normal hours even on weekends. Whatever the cause, Ginny was grateful for the time alone.

She planned it as she dressed: first she'd eat breakfast, then she'd go back to Gryffindor Tower to put the diary in her bag -- she didn't want to carry it any longer than she absolutely had to -- and then she'd go to Dumbledore's office and try to guess his password. Harry had said it used to be 'lemon drop,' and Dumbledore was nutty enough to use silly passwords all the time. So she'd start by listing every sweet she knew, and then move on to Zonko's joke products. If none of her guesses worked, she'd find Professor McGonagall and ask her to get Dumbledore.

Ginny couldn't bear to confess to anyone else. Snape or Professor McGonagall might be able to deal with Tom, and Professor Sprout might not despise her, but she didn't trust anyone besides Dumbledore to do both. Besides, she couldn't disappoint Professor Sprout or Professor McGonagall like that, and she knew her voice would dry up in her throat if she tried talking to Snape.

The Great Hall was nearly empty this early on Sunday, but a few people sat in clumps up near the teachers' table. Madam Hooch and Professor Burbage, who taught Muggle Studies, were sitting near the Gryffindor side of the room and trying to ignore Lockhart's droning lies about a poltergeist in Crete.

Ginny slipped into a seat next to Angelina Johnson, who passed her a platter of toast. "You're up early," Angelina said. "If you were Fred or George, I'd suspect you of plotting something. Are you?"

Ginny's stomach lurched. "Er, no?"

Angelina gave Ginny an appraising look, then shrugged. "Well, they never tell me anything beforehand either, but their tricks always work out in the end. You're probably the same. So good luck with whatever you're doing... and pass me the sausage."

Ginny handed over the platter of sausage, picked silently at her toast, and escaped as soon as she could without seeming inexcusably rude.

The gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office looked fierce and unforgiving, its claws as sharp as a knife. "Password?" it asked as Ginny hesitated in the corridor.

"Erm. Fizzing Whizzbies?" she ventured. The gargoyle didn't move. "Chocolate Frogs? Candy canes? Every Flavor Beans?" She knew dozens of sweets; why couldn't she remember their names when she needed them? "Cauldron Cakes? Butterscotch?"

The gargoyle hopped to the side as the wall split in two, revealing the spiral staircase Harry had described. Gingerly, Ginny stepped onto the bottom tread, half expecting the steps to scream that she was tainted by dark magic, or the gargoyle to spring back to life and drag her away. But the stairs carried her smoothly upward, circle after circle, until she reached a gleaming oak door with a brass knocker shaped like a griffin.

Ginny took a deep breath, reminded herself that her heart couldn't really sink down through her stomach and out the soles of her feet to puddle on the landing, and knocked.

Nobody answered. After a minute, she tried again. Then she twisted the brass doorknob, hoping Dumbledore might have left his office unlocked -- it seemed pointless to have a password _and_ a lock.

The door remained closed.

"Professor Dumbledore?" she called. "Er, is anyone there? I'm sorry to bother you, but it's important!" She didn't dare mention Tom, the basilisk, or the Petrifications until Dumbledore was in front of her. There was no telling how long the door in her mind would stay shut, especially not with the diary right at her side.

Still nobody came.

It was wrong to feel grateful that her confession would be delayed. It was wrong, and cowardly, and absolutely not what a Gryffindor should be feeling.

"And anyhow, now I have to go find Professor McGonagall and convince her I have a problem important enough to talk to Dumbledore, without telling her about Tom," Ginny reminded herself.

She rode the staircase down in guilty silence.

\---------------------------------------------

Professor McGonagall wasn't in her office, either. "Well, it's Sunday," Ginny muttered as she waited, kicking her heels against the legs of her chair. "She probably wants to sleep in and have some time to herself. There's no reason to think anything's wrong -- well, that anything's more wrong than it already is."

She jumped back to her feet and wandered around the office, running her finger over the bookshelves; picking up and setting down paperweights, blocks, teapots, and various other knick-knacks; and helping herself to several pieces of shortbread from a tartan-colored box sitting on the windowsill. Eventually, she pulled down a book -- _The Mirror of the Soul: Personal Reflections on the Animagus Transformation_ , by Maledicta Hawkins -- and tried to read. But the writing was deathly dull and Ginny couldn't stop herself from looking up toward the door every other minute.

The sun poured through the window in a heavy bar of gold. It inched slowly across the wall and floor. Dust motes danced in the warm, still air, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

Ginny began to doze.

"Miss Weasley? What on earth are you doing here?"

Ginny jerked upright, scrabbling to catch the book before it slid off her lap. "Professor McGonagall! I, er, I need-- I have to-- that is-- do you know where Professor Dumbledore is?"

Professor McGonagall went very pale and one of her hands clenched into a fist around the cuff of her sleeve, fingers white with barely restrained tension. "You haven't heard," she said after a moment. "Well. We're making the official announcement at supper, but there's no reason not to tell you now. Professor Dumbledore has been removed as Headmaster, and Rubeus Hagrid has been temporarily removed as Keeper of Keys and Grounds."

Ginny raised the book like a shield. Dumbledore was gone? "When? _Why?_ Who's going to save us from-- from the Heir? And Hagrid's never done anything wrong! Why's he in trouble? He lives at Hogwarts -- where can he go?"

Professor McGonagall sighed. "The board of governors has voted to remove Professor Dumbledore, on the grounds that he's been unable to protect students from this so-called Heir. As for Hagrid..." She rubbed her forehead.

"The Ministry of Magic feels a need to be seen doing something about the situation, regardless of whether their actions--" Professor McGonagall broke off and frowned. "Please excuse me. The Ministry of Magic feels that, because of a certain incident in Hagrid's past, it may be best to remove him from the current situation. At the least, it may clarify matters, and at best..."

She shrugged and attempted a smile. "I'm certain this will blow over by the end of term, Miss Weasley. For now, I'll walk you to Gryffindor Tower, and I suggest you not venture out alone again. This is no time for recklessness."

Reluctantly, Ginny followed Professor McGonagall into the corridor, mind whirling. Who would want to take Dumbledore from Hogwarts? He was the strongest wizard in Britain. Even if he hadn't figured out Tom's game, he was probably the reason Tom hadn't tried anything worse. Sending him away was stupid. No, it was worse than stupid -- it was _evil_.

And Hagrid! Yes, he'd probably think a basilisk would make a smashing house pet, but that was just how Hagrid was. He'd never hurt anyone on purpose. Any idiot could see that by talking to him for five minutes. And the Ministry didn't even know about the basilisk, so what was their excuse for blaming him?

Ginny knew if she could talk to Tom, she could figure this out -- he'd always helped her put her thoughts together, and he probably knew all the secrets behind this mess anyhow -- but she didn't dare touch the diary.

Dumbledore was gone.

She should confess to Professor McGonagall. McGonagall wouldn't understand, not like Dumbledore might have, but she was the head of Gryffindor and she'd bent the rules to get Harry onto the Quidditch team last year. Maybe she wouldn't punish Ginny quite as much as she deserved. Anyhow, even if she was expelled and the Ministry broke her wand, at least Tom wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else. It was the right thing to do.

She could. She would. Ginny arranged her thoughts, opened her mouth--

And choked. Her tongue and throat _burned_ , as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of red-hot coals. She reached instinctively toward her throat--

_"There are consequences to betrayal,"_ Tom's voice hissed, and her hands closed briefly around her neck. A warning. She'd taken too long, thought too hard about confessing. He'd woken up.

"Did you say something, Miss Weasley?" said Professor McGonagall, stopping halfway up a staircase and turning a quizzical look on Ginny.

Now! Quickly, before Tom grabbed her hands again, she should--

"No, I just got something in my throat," Ginny muttered, and faked a cough into her sleeve.

She couldn't make herself take the chance.

She was scum, unworthy of being a Weasley or a Gryffindor. But even if she couldn't do the right thing, she couldn't let Tom hurt anyone else. Maybe if she didn't touch the diary, she'd be safe for a while -- Tom hadn't used her to attack anyone while Harry had the diary. She'd have to keep it hidden until she figured out a way to kill Tom, something so fast and foolproof that he wouldn't have time to stop her and she wouldn't have time to get second thoughts and stop herself.

"Checkmate," Professor McGonagall said to the Fat Lady. "Be careful, Miss Weasley. This is no time to try doing things on your own."

But she had to do this alone, Ginny thought as she climbed through the portrait hole. Dumbledore couldn't save her. She couldn't tell anything to Harry, or her brothers, or her friends. 

She had to save herself.

\---------------------------------------------

Without the reassurance of Dumbledore's presence, the panic caused by the latest attack settled in and festered. Most Gryffindors -- and a surprising number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws -- had decided that Harry would never attack Hermione, so he couldn't be the Heir, but that didn't stop people from looking suspiciously at everyone else.

On Monday, Jasper punched Danny for "looking at him funny" during Charms. Professor Flitwick had to pin them in opposite sides of the classroom with Sticking Charms to stop the fight. Then he gave them both detention.

On Tuesday, Jia-li had a fit of anti-Slytherin paranoia in the middle of Double Potions, which resulted in a shower of botched Anti-Inflammatory Draught raining over the class and staining their skin and clothes a lurid emerald green.

"If it were a touch less blinding, I think it'd be a lovely color for robes," Daphne said in a stage whisper as Snape strode around the room flicking his wand to reverse the worst effects. "Green's more elegant than black, and not nearly as overdone as, say, red."

"Stop baiting the poor lions," said Electra, smirking at Ginny's tense scowl. "You know not everyone's cut out for green."

"True. Black's much better for hiding mistakes," agreed Daphne.

Apple leaned across the aisle and smacked her cousin in the shoulder. Ginny didn't bother to hide her snicker.

"Two points from Gryffindor for disruptive behavior," said Snape, appearing suddenly behind Apple. "Family quarrels have no place in Hogwarts, Miss Rumluck. Do try to live up to your cousin's example rather than descend to the level of your housemates. _Evanesco_. _Scourgify_." Emerald glop removed and silence restored, he swept back to his desk. Daphne and Apple exchanged a speaking glance, and then Apple shrugged, apparently agreeing to drop the issue. Daphne grinned.

Ginny fumed.

"I thought your cousin was cool, but she's just a dirty snake like the rest of her house," Jasper said as the Gryffindors trooped toward the Great Hall for lunch. "Did you hear what Draco Malfoy was saying yesterday? That we're better off with Dumbledore gone, and maybe the next Headmaster won't _want_ to close the Chamber? What's your cousin say to that, eh?"

Apple shrugged. "Daphne said, and I quote, 'Draco Malfoy's a bloody stupid prat, but maybe now we'll get a Headmaster who won't keep overlooking the way everyone looks down on Slytherin, so you won't hear me complaining!'"

Ginny scoffed silently. Dumbledore didn't make trouble for the Slytherins. Slytherins made trouble for themselves.

"Look, Daphne pushes at people," Apple continued in her own voice. "She likes to find people's buttons and make them jump -- that's simply how she is. I don't appreciate you calling her a dirty snake when she's never accused you of anything except being too full of yourself, which, incidentally, is absolutely true."

Jasper flushed bright red. "I am not full of myself! And she is so a dirty snake, and you're a house traitor if you keep hanging round with her."

"Oh, excuse me for thinking my family's a trifle more important than a gaggle of silly geese who never listen to me," said Apple, rolling her eyes, and she proceeded to ignore the other first years for the rest of the week, no matter how much Jasper, Susan, and Danny prodded at her, or Jia-li and Eugene swore they didn't mind about Daphne.

Ginny couldn't bring herself to care. Every morning she pictured the room in her mind and checked that the door was as tightly shut as she could make it. Every day she imagined she felt Tom's thoughts oozing through her own, like cold, slimy currents of stagnant water, or raspy serpent coils. And every evening she watched Harry and Ron sit in the corner of the common room and whisper to each other. She wondered what they were planning. It didn't matter in the long run -- they didn't know about Tom; they couldn't help her -- but she was curious.

"You seem awfully distracted," Xanthe told her as they left the greenhouses Friday afternoon. "Is anything wrong? Do you want to talk?"

"I'm fine," snapped Ginny. "And I'm sick of people asking me that!"

"You don't need to bite my head off, you know," said Xanthe, poking at Ginny's shoulder with an ink-stained finger. "I'm only trying to be sympathetic. Anyway, I wanted to know if you'd like to skip studying tomorrow and walk around the grounds instead -- if we stay together and promise to keep in sight of the castle, we can probably get permission."

Ginny felt like scum for snapping at one of her only friends. "Erm. Thanks. That might help."

"I'll ask Professor Sprout tonight," said Xanthe, and dashed off to join Anne and Caroline.

Ginny trudged over to the other Gryffindors and fell in beside Apple. She was still annoyed at the way Apple kept sticking up for Daphne, but at least Apple's self-imposed silence meant Ginny didn't have to attempt any conversation. She wanted to pour out all her troubles, but she couldn't trust anyone; it was safer not to talk at all.

Xanthe seemed to have figured that out. Saturday morning she dragged Ginny away from breakfast, led her down to the lakeshore, and sat beside her on their hidden bench talking on and on about nothing in particular. Ginny hummed and nodded and scuffed her shoes in the mulch of last autumn's leaves, letting Xanthe's voice wash over her like warm, clean water.

"I'm sorry I'm such a useless friend," she said when they headed back into the castle for lunch.

Xanthe shrugged. "You're having a bad year -- it happens. Besides, I like to talk, and you're about the only person who doesn't tell me to shut up, so I'm taking as much advantage of you as you are of me. Just remember that I'm willing to listen, too!"

"Yeah, okay," Ginny mumbled, and slunk off to the Gryffindor table. She couldn't possibly tell Xanthe about Tom -- Xanthe didn't deserve that burden -- but it was nice to know somebody cared.

She buttered a piece of toast in glum silence, poking nervously at the door in her mind. It seemed shut, but she had no proof. Tom might simply be lulling her into carelessness.

She'd just taken a bite when the twins flung themselves down on either side of her. "Ginny! Dearly beloved sister! Cleverest girl we know! Light of our eyes!" Fred began.

"Save that one for Angelina," said George, reaching over Ginny's plate to flick Fred's shoulder. "Ginny, you're not turning into Percy and spending all your time studying, right?"

Ginny swallowed her toast and glanced warily from one twin to the other. "Why would you care if I were?"

"Because we need your help distracting Ron and Harry," said Fred, leaning toward her with a more serious expression. "They've lost Hermione _again_ \--"

"--terribly careless of them--"

"--and we need to take their minds off everything that's gone wrong this year," finished Fred.

"We thought we'd start with Exploding Snap and move on to more elaborate plans if that doesn't work," added George. "Do you mind sitting in? And do you have any other ideas? Normally we'd take them exploring, but with the curfew and the escorts..." He shrugged.

"Exploding Snap sounds fine," said Ginny. "When?"

"In the evenings," said George. "They stay up too late, whispering in the corner -- haven't you noticed? And they're no good at plotting, either of them. They'll go do something bloody stupid if we don't look out."

Harry would not-- well, no, be fair, Ginny told herself. He would go do something so brave it was bloody stupid, and Ron would cheer him on. They'd done it last year, and without Hermione around to temper them...

"Yeah, I'll help," she said. "Can I finish my lunch?"

"By all means -- can't have our co-conspirator starving, can we?" said Fred, and he and George clattered away.

Ginny picked at her toast for another minute before giving up and going to visit Sir Vladislav.

\---------------------------------------------

The next week was an exercise in slowly ratcheting tension. Everyone knew the Heir had just been waiting until Dumbledore was gone, and the other shoe would drop any day now... or maybe the next day... or maybe the next. Each mostly peaceful day only seemed to wind people up more.

Ginny sympathized. She was waiting for Ron and Harry to do whatever mad thing they had planned, and each day they spent acting normal (if subdued) drove her more and more to distraction.

"You know, if you don't take a deep breath and relax, I think you might literally explode," Xanthe told her on Saturday. "Forget going on a walk. Sit down. I'm going to explain Astronomy to you until you fall asleep."

"Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose of explaining it?" asked Ginny as she spread a star chart over the table.

"Well, yes, but I'm allowed more than one purpose at a time." Xanthe grinned and tossed her plait back over her shoulder. "Now hush and listen. The absolute magnitude of a star--"

Two hours later, Ginny had a crick in her neck from sleeping on her textbook. Xanthe refused to apologize. "You needed a nap. You got a nap. Stop whingeing and come to lunch."

Ginny loftily ignored her friend as they clattered down to the Great Hall.

That evening Susan got into a shrieking fight with Ruth, Daphne's curly-haired friend, which nearly descended into hexes before Professor McGonagall and Snape broke it up and assigned detention to all the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years.

"But we didn't do anything!" Jasper protested.

"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. "You should have stopped them. There's no honor in failing to stop a disaster before it spins out of control."

"No survival value either," Snape muttered, just loud enough for Ginny to overhear, before gathering his Slytherins and sweeping off toward the dungeons.

On Monday, Ginny drifted through Charms and Transfiguration before escaping to the library and looking up everything she could find on basilisks. Inevitably, Percy dragged her back to Gryffindor Tower -- and took two points for evading protective supervision -- but she didn't care. She thought about deadly eyes and poison fangs and wondered whether, if worst came to worst, she might be able to slip Tom's control long enough to make the snake kill her.

It shouldn't be too hard. The basilisk wanted to kill.

If she died, she'd leave Tom helpless. Nobody else would suffer.

But that would be a coward's way out, and it wouldn't destroy the diary. It wasn't a real solution.

Still brooding, Ginny trailed behind the twins as they barged into Harry and Ron's chosen nook and dealt out five hands of Exploding Snap.

"Oh, give over already!" said Ron. "We're not babies, we don't need looking after." But he picked up his cards and flicked the two of dragons onto the table, starting the first game.

Ginny played desultorily, lost early, and sat out the rest of the games, huddled sideways in Hermione's favorite chair. She was beginning to think the twins' plan was as stupid as whatever Ron and Harry might end up doing. It made sense to keep an eye out, but this was too intrusive, too annoying, like their cockeyed attempt to comfort her by scaring her after Colin was Petrified.

But she'd agreed to help, so here she was.

The twins, who'd never learned to leave well enough alone, kept nagging Harry and Ron for one more game, and one more, and one more, until past midnight. Finally Ginny lost her patience.

"I don't know about you, but some of us would rather not fall asleep in the middle of lessons tomorrow," she said, leaning down to gather the cards before George could start shuffling again. "It's not as if we'll never have another chance to play. Go to bed."

"Ginny!" protested the twins, in chorus, and Ron looked torn, but Harry seemed utterly relieved.

Ginny clutched the deck to her chest. "I'll give them back tomorrow. For once in your lives, stop bothering people when we'd do much better on our own. Good night."

Grumbling, Fred tossed her the card case and followed George upstairs. Harry and Ron stayed seated. "Thanks," said Harry, with an awkward smile, "but I need to talk to Ron for a minute. I swear we'll be fine."

They wanted to talk about Hermione or their latest mad plot and didn't think she deserved to be let in on their secrets. Fine. It wasn't as if she didn't have secrets of her own.

"It's no problem," said Ginny, and trudged up the stairs alone.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny kept closing the door in her mind, though she doubted it did much good. Keeping Tom from outright possessing her wasn't good enough, not if he could still reach through enough to stop her from telling anyone what he'd done.

Although...

"Apple?" Ginny said after the other three girls had clomped off down to breakfast. "Can I ask you a question?"

Apple shrugged, still plaiting her damp and crinkled hair. "I don't see why you'd bother listening to me now, but yes, you may ask."

Ginny wound a strand of hair around her finger and wondered how to put this. "Suppose you had something you particularly wanted to say, but you kept choking up--" she began.

"I take it this is about Harry Potter?" said Apple.

"No! Erm, well, that is... maybe?" Ginny felt her face burning, but she needed advice more than she needed to avoid embarrassment.

Apple smiled and began wrapping her plait into a crown, jabbing in hairpins every now and then. "Fair enough. I think your best chance is to distract yourself. First, reduce what you want to say to a single sentence and recite it until you have it memorized. Second, think very hard about something else, preferably something completely innocuous. Finally, as you open your mouth, switch back to your memorized sentence. That way you shouldn't have time to freeze up again."

Plan what to say, think very hard about something else so Tom wouldn't be paying attention, and confess before he could grab hold of her throat and stop her. It might work.

"Thanks, Apple," said Ginny, and slid off her bed.

"If it disposes you to be less unpleasant to everyone around you, I count it advice well spent," said Apple, adjusting a final hairpin. "Hurry up; you don't want to miss him." She pulled a clean black robe from her bedpost and began to fasten it around her shoulders.

Ginny made a face and slipped out of the room.

Who to tell? Harry? Professor McGonagall? "Harry," Ginny decided. He already knew about Tom and the diary, so she wouldn't have to waste time explaining that part. And what to say? Something simple, something short. No long explanations, not at first -- she'd need to make him believe her right away.

So. 'Tom in the diary is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me. Help!' No, that sounded so babyish... What about, 'Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me'? Yes, that could work.

"Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me," Ginny murmured to herself, getting the feel of the words in her mouth. "Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me. Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me. Help!"

Something cold twitched at the edge of her mind.

A distraction. She needed a distraction. What was distracting? The twins, always dragging her off to bother Harry and Ron, or hauling her to Quidditch matches, or stopping her from studying for final exams, which were being held despite all the Petrifications, and that would be incredibly unfair to poor Colin, after what Tom had done to him, and...

No! She couldn't think about Tom!

Final exams. Ginny was sure she could pass Potions and Herbology with no problem, and Charms was nearly as easy, but Transfiguration was trickier. Astronomy was hopeless, of course, even after Xanthe's help. As for Defense, there was no way on earth she could remember enough trivia from Lockhart's books to pass whatever self-glorifying exercise he'd set. He was such a useless, toad-licking ninny!

Running over Lockhart's flaws carried Ginny safely into the Great Hall. Harry and Ron were sitting halfway down the Gryffindor table, and Ginny wondered if she dared to tell them now. No, she should wait until they left, until she could get Harry alone.

Ginny sat at the near end of the table and grabbed a slice of dry toast. She had just taken a bite when Professor McGonagall tapped a knife against a glass and said, "I have good news."

The Great Hall erupted, dozens of people talking and shouting at once. Professor McGonagall tapped her glass several more times and frowned until the noise subsided. "Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last," she continued. "Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

Nearly everyone cheered.

Ginny's stomach plummeted. She set her toast aside and tried to smile -- now, of all times, she couldn't afford to look suspicious -- but all she managed was a few seconds of faint clapping.

If Colin and Hermione and Nearly-Headless Nick and Justin Finch-Fletchley woke, they would tell everyone that she was the Heir. Anything she said about Tom would sound like a self-serving lie. She had to tell Harry _now_.

She hurried down the table and sat down beside Ron. 'Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me.' That was all she had to say, and then everything would be out of her hands. Harry would tell the professors. They would kill Tom. She'd be free -- a failure, a coward, but free.

She twisted her hands in her lap. Finals. Think about finals. She wanted to talk to Harry about whether Hermione would still have to take the exams.

"What's up?" asked Ron, helping himself to a second serving of porridge.

Hermione, at least, would tell the professors that Ginny had tried to warn her. Wouldn't she? Ginny glanced up and down the table, wondering if anyone would overhear her. Was anyone paying attention? No, they were all still distracted by Professor McGonagall's announcement.

Ron was watching her suspiciously. He knew something was wrong; she knew he knew. "Spit it out," he said.

"I've got to tell you something," Ginny muttered, looking down and away.

No, wrong! Be casual, talk about something else! Don't attract Tom's attention!

"What is it?" asked Harry. His voice was funny, a little soft, a little careful, like Mum when she was worried that someone might be hurt.

Ginny gulped. Ron's suspicious look sharpened. " _What?_ " he demanded.

Oh god. She opened her mouth, and something burned. Her breath stopped.

_-I see you, Ginevra. I see you betraying me. BE SILENT.-_

Tom. Oh god, she'd done it all wrong, and now he knew, and Harry was _right here_ , and what if he possessed her hands and reached out and--

Harry leaned forward. No! He had to stay away from her! But he couldn't hear her thoughts.

"Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets?" he asked. "Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?"

_-SAY NOTHING.-_

Her throat burned. But this was _her_ body, not Tom's. One fight, one last time to shut him out -- just for a moment, just a few seconds -- and she'd be free. Ginny drew a deep breath, past the burning knot in her throat. Five seconds. She opened her mouth--

A hand dropped onto her shoulder. "If you've finished eating, I'll take that seat, Ginny," said Percy. "I'm starving -- I've only just come off patrol duty."

She choked. Cold fingers squeezed the borders of her mind.

Leaping to her feet, Ginny glanced despairingly at Percy and fled. She had to get away from Harry, had to keep him safe from Tom.

She had to end this. Now. Today. Before anyone woke up.

She needed to take the diary to Professor McGonagall.

\---------------------------------------------

In the corridors, news was still spreading about the Mandrakes. Ginny ran past clumps and threads of people all smiling and laughing and wondering who the Heir would turn out to be. She tried to shut her ears.

_-What are you planning, Ginevra? You know nobody will believe you.-_

"You're lying, you always lie to me," she muttered. "I have proof -- I'll show them -- and they'll make sure you're stopped. One way or another, you're finished. I'm only making it easy. Haruspex," she added to the Fat Lady, and dove through the portrait hole before the painting had swung more than halfway aside.

"I never!" the Fat Lady said. "There's no need to jostle me, dear."

"Sorry," Ginny snapped, and dashed up the stairs. So long as she concentrated on holding her mental door shut and didn't touch the book directly, she could probably move the diary from her trunk to her bag and carry it to Professor McGonagall's office.

She pulled an old pair of socks over her hands and reached down into the trunk, past books and clothes, shoving aside a deck of cards and two bottles of ink. There -- a hard rectangle muffled by thick wool -- the diary. Carefully, she pulled out the jumper and its dangerous treasure. The sleeves, only loosely folded around each other, slid aside and half-unwrapped the book.

Ginny stared at the shabby, black cover. Such a small thing, so harmless to look at. So deadly.

"None of this had to happen, Tom," she said. "I would have helped you get a body. You didn't need to hurt anyone. It's been fifty years -- you could have started over and done things right this time. Why couldn't you change? Why didn't you even try?"

Tom was silent, waiting, a press of frozen shadows behind her eyes.

"Fine. Die, then. See if I care." She dropped the jumper to her bed and shifted the diary from her right hand to her left.

Her finger brushed leather. Ginny froze. She was touching the diary. There was a hole in her sock and a hole in her mind, and Tom was _right there_. If he took her now nobody would ever know the truth. Nobody would stop him. Nobody would save her.

Tom moved her hands, opening the diary, flattening the pages as mist swirled out and coalesced into his body, fully colored and nearly solid now. _"I think I won't be the one dying today, Ginevra,"_ he said, and reached out with one hand to stop her scream.

Then there was nothing but darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if Hermione had a mirror in her hand to help explain the basilisk situation to Penelope (I guess figuring that going to a prefect was a good first step before approaching a professor), it's still absurdly coincidental that they didn't look up to see the basilisk directly, particularly since Tom had to be there to direct the snake and could easily have used Ginny's voice and body to talk Hermione into putting the mirror away.
> 
> Making Ginny responsible for that coincidence is both an efficient use of the characters we know were present and a good way to continue giving her agency and a character arc. It's nice when story elements click into place like that. :-)
> 
> (Also, possession is terrifying and ought to be written as terrifying, not swept offstage and blithely dismissed. But that is an argument for another day.)


	13. Shattering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Thirteenth: In which Harry kills Tom and the basilisk, and Ginny faces her complete failure to either solve her own problems or keep Harry safe. She does not cope well, but at least not everyone blames her for helping Tom. That's a good thing, right?

She was cold, her back ached, and her head was pounding as if a goblin raiding party had invaded. Tom had possessed her again. What had she done this time? Was he gone? Was he waiting? Where had he left her?

Ginny listened: dripping water, a distant crackle of torches, and slow, arrhythmic footsteps, as if the walker were picking a way over rough ground. She cracked her eyes open, trying not to be obvious, not to show Tom she was awake.

Dim light. A smooth stone floor, like ice against her skin. She was so cold; her teeth rattled and she shivered before she could hide the motion.

No hiding now. Ginny shoved herself upright, biting back a moan at the stiffness in her arms and legs and the lines of pain radiating down from her temples, and looked around.

Tom wasn't there. Instead, a giant snake -- the basilisk! -- she didn't have a mirror -- what if it turned--

It wasn't moving. Its eyes were punctured, oozing yellowish glop. Blood flowed sluggishly from its mouth, pooling on the floor. Harry stood close by, soaked in blood and ink. His skin showed pale through a gaping, acid-burned hole in his left sleeve, just above his elbow. He held a wand, a sword, the Sorting Hat, and the diary.

The diary was ruined; pierced and burned by whatever acid-like liquid had destroyed Harry's sleeve.

No diary, no Tom. He was gone.

Ginny bent over her knees and sobbed.

"Harry. Oh, Harry, I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy." She was shaking, stuttering through her tears, everything pouring out like poison from a wound. "It was _me_ , Harry, but I-- I s-swear I d-didn't mean to--"

It was Tom.

"R-Riddle made me," she said. She couldn't say his name, not the one she'd trusted. One thing to hold, one last secret -- nobody had to know how much she'd hoped he was innocent, how she'd tried to talk to him even after she knew everything. Ginny buried her face in her hands. She couldn't bear to look at Harry.

"He t-took me over, and..." And then nothing. Why wasn't she dead? "How did you kill that-- that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I remember is him coming out of the diary..."

"It's all right, Riddle's finished," said Harry, holding up the diary and pointing out the hole. "Look! Him _and_ the basilisk." His hand shook, and he adjusted his grip on the sword and hat. "C'mon, Ginny, let's get out of here."

Harry didn't understand. He didn't realize how much had been her fault, how much she'd let Tom get away with. The professors would see what he was too kind to notice.

The stupid tears wouldn't stop falling. "I'm going to be expelled! I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came, and n-now I'll have to leave, and-- and _what will Mum and Dad say?_ "

They'd be so ashamed of her.

Harry helped her to her feet, squeezing almost hard enough to hurt. Ginny clutched back equally tight. His hand was hot and damp in hers, proof they were alive. This wasn't one of Tom's tricks. This was real.

Her fingernails were digging into the back of Harry's hand, but he didn't pull away.

They climbed over the dead snake and walked between rows of tall pillars that looked oddly familiar -- maybe from her dreams? Was this the dragon's chamber? Dumbledore's phoenix hovered in the entrance, urging them out of the strange room. The doors slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, almost like someone saying 'farewell.' Ginny rubbed her eyes, risking one glance behind, and flinched as the carved snakes seemed to wink at her.

She followed Harry along the dank corridor in silence, past coils of shed snakeskin. Their feet crunched over tiny bones -- and some not so tiny. Ginny thought about the length of the basilisk's fangs, the breadth of its jaws, and shuddered. Harry had faced it alone. Her fault.

She pulled her hand out of Harry's grasp. He half turned, a question in the tilt of his head and the set of his shoulders, but she pretended she didn't see. He drew a breath--

Up ahead, rocks shifted and clattered, redirecting Harry's attention. "Ron!" he yelled, speeding up, leaving her behind. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!"

She was not okay. She might never be okay again.

Ron gave a strangled cheer, and then Ginny turned the final bend to see a massive pile of fallen stones, with one narrow gap cleared at the far side. Ron was staring through, eager, desperate, his pale face framed by darkness.

" _Ginny!_ " He thrust one arm through the gap; blindly, Ginny grabbed hold and let him pull her through, let his babble wash over her. "You're alive! I don't believe it. What happened?" Beaming, he tried to hug her.

She didn't want anyone touching her. Ginny pushed his arms off and shuffled away from the gap.

"But you're okay, Ginny," Ron said, undaunted, still smiling. Then he ducked as the phoenix darted through the gap to dance overhead. "How -- what -- where did that bird come from?"

"He's Dumbledore's," said Harry, clambering awkwardly over the fallen stones.

"How come you've got a sword?" asked Ron, gaping at the sharp metal, still glittering under the bloodstains.

Harry shifted his grip on the hilt and looked sideways at Ginny, biting his lip. She turned away, still crying. Why couldn't she just disappear? Tom was gone; shouldn't everything be over? Why did she still hurt? Why did she have to face everyone, before she'd had any chance to work things out?

"I'll explain when we get out of here," said Harry.

"But--" Ron began.

"Later," Harry said shortly. Small stones clicked and clattered as he moved away from the gap. "Where's Lockhart?"

Lockhart? What did that idiot have to do with anything? Ginny risked a glance at the boys, rubbing her sleeve over her face to disguise her attention. Why couldn't she stop crying? Shouldn't she be relieved? She'd be punished, of course, but at least nobody else would get hurt anymore.

"Back there," said Ron, jerking his head down the corridor. "He's in a bad way -- come and see."

The phoenix flew ahead of them, casting a soft, golden light from his scarlet wings. After another handful of twists and turns, they reached the mouth of a wide, grime-streaked pipe, big enough for a person to fit inside. Lockhart sat beside it, humming; his smile was small and genuine instead of the glittery thing he usually assaulted people with.

"His memory's gone," Ron said quietly, leaning in toward Ginny and Harry. "The Memory Charm backfired -- hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself."

Funny. Lockhart almost looked like a decent human being for once, and Ron was complaining about it. Ginny felt hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat and turned away, pressed her hands against her eyes, ground the heels of her palms against her skin.

One last life ruined. It wasn't directly her fault -- she hadn't asked anyone to come after her, hadn't known anything about Memory Charms, and what had Lockhart been trying to do with a Memory Charm anyhow? -- but if she hadn't been so stupid, none of this would have happened. Her fault in the end.

Hers and Tom's. No, not Tom. Riddle. She had to get used to calling him Riddle -- had to put an inch between herself and him, a space to breathe and think and work out what to say when the teachers asked her about him.

Oh god, Tom was dead. He'd tried to kill her. Ginny choked on a sob.

Now Harry was touching her shoulder, pushing her toward Ron. "We've got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart--"

"He means you," Ron said sharply.

"You hold Ginny's other hand," Harry said to Lockhart, who nodded amiably.

Harry hadn't even asked her opinion. But she couldn't leave Lockhart down here alone. Ginny tried to smile through her tears -- it sat oddly on her face, so she gave up and just held Lockhart's hand as firmly as she could. Ron clung to her other hand, lacing their fingers together

Harry tucked the Sorting Hat and the bloodstained sword into his belt. Then Ron grabbed onto Harry's robes, Harry grabbed the phoenix's tail, and a strange, hot, floating feeling swept through Ginny, flowing from Ron's hand through her and on into Lockhart.

The phoenix beat its wings and they flew into the pipe -- Ginny banged her shins -- and upward, higher and higher. How far under the castle had they been? How had Tom brought her back up before? Surely there was a simpler way to do this.

"Amazing! Amazing!" Lockhart said, tipping his face back and laughing in childlike joy. "This is just like magic!"

It wasn't fair. She'd tried so hard to do the right thing, to protect Harry, to stop Tom -- and Lockhart ended up happy while she hurt so much she wanted to banish herself into nothingness and never come back. Lockhart! Stupid, toad-licking, scum-sucking, puffed up, dirt-for-brains _Lockhart!_ Why couldn't she have been the one who forgot everything?

The wind brushed her tears away as fast as they fell.

And then they popped out through the dismembered corpse of a sink and landed with a splash on the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Ginny looked at the window seat where she'd bound herself to Tom, and wondered why she was surprised. She'd always ended up here, all year long. Of course she had. This was where Tom had wanted her to be.

Behind them, the sink slid back into place like a living jigsaw puzzle. Myrtle hovered across the floor, just outside her stall, and stared at them with a flabbergasted expression. "You're alive," she said.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," said Harry, stealing a bit of toilet paper to wipe blood and slime off his glasses.

"Oh, well, I'd just been thinking... if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet," said Myrtle. She blushed a deeper shade of silver.

As if Harry would want to share a toilet with anyone.

Ron shivered dramatically as they pushed open the bathroom door. "Urgh. Harry, I think Myrtle's grown _fond_ of you. You've got competition, Ginny!"

As if she cared! They'd both nearly _died_ , and all Ron could think about was her stupid crush? Did he think she was so shallow she could forget everything that had happened? Did he want her to smile so badly he'd pretend nothing was wrong?

Ginny cried harder, silently. She wanted to be alone, but if she ran now -- if she hid, if she didn't face judgment -- it would prove Tom right, prove that she was twisted and wrong inside, like him. She had to stay, no matter how much it hurt.

"Where now?" Ron asked after a moment.

Harry pointed down the corridor. The phoenix had flown to the corner and was hovering with an expectant air. Harry strode toward the bird, Lockhart at his heels.

Slowly, Ginny followed. Ron walked beside her. He touched her shoulder, feather-light, barely enough to feel. "It'll be all right," he whispered. "I swear it'll be okay. You're alive, that's the important part. You'll be fine, right?"

No, she wouldn't be fine. She should have died down there, along with Tom. But she couldn't say that to Ron. No one else should get hurt, not now, not anymore.

And Ron didn't mean to hurt her. He used to pick her up when she fell, used to help her wash dirt from her scrapes, used to peel off the backing paper so she could put plasters over her cuts. He just didn't know how to deal with cuts that didn't bleed on the outside.

Ginny scrubbed at her face with the least dirty corner of her sleeve. She was a failure and a coward, but she'd tried. She'd kept Tom trapped for months, she'd made sure he couldn't tell lies to Harry, she'd warned Hermione, and she'd almost got the diary to Professor McGonagall in the end. That was something -- not anywhere near enough, but something. Maybe she didn't have to be alone anymore. Tentatively, Ginny reached up and clasped her brother's hand.

They walked into Professor McGonagall's office together.

\---------------------------------------------

For a moment, there was silence.

Mum and Dad sat in an armchair beside the fire, hunched in on themselves, arms around each other. Professor McGonagall stood near her desk, looking distraught, and Dumbledore stood by the end of the mantelpiece, his grave expression transmuting into a smile as he examined the intruders.

Her parents stared at her like she'd come back from the dead. Mum went white, then red, and leapt to her feet. " _Ginny!_ "

Ginny braced herself against the doorframe and did her best not to buckle under Mum's strangling embrace. Dad was barely a second behind her, roping Ron into the hug as well.

Mum wept into her shoulder, mumbling a broken litany of relief. "Oh my goodness, I thought you were dead -- thought I'd never see you again -- oh Merlin, you're alive, you're safe, Ginny -- Ginny, what happened, who did this to you -- oh thank goodness -- oh, I thought I'd die--"

"She's fine, Mum," said Ron, slipping out from under Dad's arm. "Harry saved her."

Mum unbent and lunged toward Ron and Harry, gathering them into her arms, giving Ginny a bare second to stand unsupported before Dad wrapped her up again.

"Can't breathe," she muttered into his chest.

"Sorry," he said, but he didn't let her go.

Mum was babbling at Harry now. "You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," Professor McGonagall said weakly, leaning on the mantelpiece as if a stray breath might knock her over without support.

Mum let go of Harry and reached back to touch Ginny's shoulder. Harry walked over to Professor McGonagall's desk -- getting out of Mum's reach -- and laid the Sorting Hat, the bloodstained sword, and the diary in a row.

"For me, it started on Hallowe'en," he said after a moment, looking at the fire and avoiding everyone's eyes. "We went to Nick's Deathday party, and on the way back I heard a voice in the walls. It was talking about blood and stuff, but Ron and Hermione couldn't hear anything--"

Of course Harry had heard the basilisk. Of course it hadn't meant anything to him. Before the Dueling Club, he hadn't known he was a Parselmouth.

"Just before she was Petrified, Hermione figured it out -- about the basilisk, anyway -- it was using the pipes to get around. And since she knew it was a basilisk, she had a mirror, so she got Petrified instead of killed. She was probably trying to explain things to that other girl she was with," Harry continued.

Ginny nudged Dad in the side and waved her hand at the open door. His face softened into more familiar worried lines -- lost a bit of that unnerving taut desperation -- and he shuffled over and pulled it shut. Mum took the chance to sweep Ginny against her side and clutch her tight.

"Before Hagrid was arrested, he told me and Ron to follow the spiders," Harry was saying. "We had no clue what he meant, but in Monday Herbology we noticed a bunch of them heading toward the Forbidden Forest, so that night we sneaked out--"

So that was why they'd waited in the common room instead of going up to bed. The twins had been right; Harry and Ron _had_ been planning something bloody stupid.

"Here, Ginny," whispered Mum, tucking a handkerchief into Ginny's hand with a worried smile.

Ginny attempted to smile back. It didn't work. So she nodded and scrubbed at the sticky residue of her tears while Harry shifted his feet.

"--drove up and rescued us," he was saying, "and we snuck back in. Ron thought we hadn't learned anything, but I figured at least we knew Hagrid was innocent. Later I kept thinking about what Aragog said, and it hit me. He said the girl who died was found in a bathroom, and I thought, what if she never left it? What if she was still there?"

"You refer, of course, to Myrtle Leeds," said Dumbledore.

"Yeah, Moaning Myrtle," agreed Ron.

No, Myrtle Leeds. She had a name. Ginny blew her nose and tried to melt into the wall. Sooner or later Harry would have to explain about Tom and the diary. He couldn't avoid accusing her forever.

"We got distracted by exams, but we tried to go look around this morning. Professor McGonagall caught us, and I said we were going to visit Hermione," continued Harry. "That was when we realized Hermione had figured out about the basilisk and the pipes, and Ron said, if the basilisk was getting around in the plumbing, what if the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in a bathroom?"

"It wasn't that brilliant. I only thought of it after you explained everything Hermione had figured out," muttered Ron.

Harry ignored him. "We went to the staff room to tell Professor McGonagall, but I guess someone found the Heir's message and she told everyone to go back to our houses. We couldn't go -- we had to tell someone about the basilisk -- so we hid in the wardrobe and heard about Ginny. We forgot to explain anything after that."

Mum grabbed Ginny's hands while Dad rubbed her shoulder. Ginny tried not to flinch away.

"Ron figured that Ginny knew something about the Heir -- she'd tried to talk to us at breakfast, but Percy interrupted her -- and he said we should tell Lockhart about the basilisk and Myrtle's bathroom."

"But why tell me?" asked Lockhart, with a puzzled smile.

Harry ignored him, too. "Lockhart admitted he was a fraud. All the stuff in his books is other people's stories -- he just took the credit and stole their memories. He tried to Memory Charm us, too, but we disarmed him and took him to talk to Myrtle. She said she saw glowing yellow eyes and then died, and they'd been right in front of her toilet. So we looked at the sink there and found a little snake mark on one of the taps."

Harry shrugged and turned slightly, staring out the window. "I told it to open, in Parseltongue, and it did. Then we went down."

Hissing echoed through Ginny's thoughts, twisting into words: _open_ , and _in the name of Slytherin_ , and _patience, you'll get blood soon enough_. If she closed her eyes and pictured snakes, she thought she might still be able to speak them aloud. That was Tom: bits of him left in her like venom in her blood, ink stains on her skin.

The stupid tears welled up again. Ginny pressed the handkerchief to her face and wished it were an Invisibility Cloak.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall when Harry didn't continue his story, "so you found out where the entrance was -- breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add -- but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

Harry clenched his hands on the edge of the desk. "Lockhart got hold of Ron's wand and tried a Memory Charm again, but Ron's wand has been acting funny all year. It exploded -- brought down half the ceiling and split us up -- so I went on alone. Ginny was in the Chamber, on the floor. Then the basilisk got loose."

Mum shuddered and pulled Ginny's head close against her shoulder, stroking her damp hair.

She had no idea. Whatever horrors she was imagining, she had no idea at all. But Harry hadn't said a word about Tom. What was he playing at?

"Fawkes saved me," said Harry, nodding at the phoenix perched on Dumbledore's shoulder. "He put out the snake's eyes and gave me the Sorting Hat. I had no idea what to do, but the basilisk knocked the hat into my hand and I asked it for help. It dropped that sword on my head." He waved his hand at the sword on the desk. "The snake had to open its mouth to bite me, so I held the sword up and shoved, and it went up into its head."

"But -- surely the fangs..." said Dad, miming something giant and sharp coming downward fast. This time, Ginny shuddered. Harry had risked death to save her. She didn't deserve that. He should have saved himself and left her to her fate.

"Yeah. It bit me." Harry shrugged, as if his life meant nothing. "Fawkes saved me again -- he cried on my arm, and--"

"Phoenix tears, of course," murmured Professor McGonagall. "Albus, I don't suppose your bird would enjoy some sunflower seeds?"

"You never know," Dumbledore said with a faint smile, reflected firelight masking his eyes. "Now, fascinating as your story has been, Harry, you appear to be skipping several important elements. What interests me most is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

Ginny froze.

 _Voldemort?_ But-- Tom-- but-- _Tom Riddle was the Dark Lord?_ That didn't make any sense! Voldemort was old -- older than Mum and Dad, even -- not a boy, not someone who could listen and laugh and tell her stories as a Christmas present. Not someone who'd bother to help with her homework. Even though he'd been lying, Tom had done all that. Ginny couldn't imagine Voldemort doing anything so normal.

But... Tom had been in the diary for fifty years. So he _was_ old, even if it was only a sideways sort of age, like paintings and enchanted armor. And he was evil. He would have killed her to get out of the diary, just because it was faster than waiting for her to help him honestly. Maybe he would have grown up into the monster who'd tried to kill Harry when Harry was just a baby, the monster who'd killed her uncles before she was born.

Mum was protesting. "Enchant _Ginny?_ But Ginny's not-- Ginny hasn't been-- has she?"

Yes, she had. Whatever Mum was thinking, she probably had done, and worse besides.

"It was this diary," Harry said quickly, snatching the ruined book from the desk and holding it up. "Riddle wrote in it when he was sixteen."

Dumbledore gently took the diary from Harry and peered down his long, crooked nose at its mutilated pages. "Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen."

He turned around to face the sofa. "Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school -- traveled far and wide -- sank so deeply in to the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformation, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

Tom had made Head Boy despite the Chamber and that mess with Rose? Good for him.

No, wait, bad for him! Why hadn't anyone seen through him then? He'd _killed_ Myrtle and -- if Ginny had pieced the story together right -- framed Hagrid for her death. If Dumbledore had been Tom's teacher, why hadn't he done something back then instead of letting him turn into even more of a monster?

"But, Ginny," said Mum, clutching Ginny's shoulder so tightly Ginny thought her bones might snap. "What's our Ginny got to do with-- with _him?_ "

Harry looked at the carpet. Dumbledore was suddenly quite absorbed in studying the diary.

Tom was gone. He couldn't stop her anymore. She had nobody left to blame for her cowardice.

"His diary," Ginny said, twisting the handkerchief tighter and tighter in her shaking hands. Her voice sounded all wrong, hoarse and thick with tears and snot, but she pushed on. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been wr-writing back all year."

Dad reached forward and caught her shoulder, turning her to face him. "Ginny! Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain! Why didn't you show the diary to me or your mother? A suspicious object like that -- it was _clearly_ full of Dark Magic--"

Then why should she trust the portraits or the suits of armor that guarded Hogwarts? It wasn't like they kept their brains out on display! Dad hadn't shown her how to find where an enchanted object kept its personality, so how did he expect her to know which ones were secretly evil?

"I d-didn't know!" she said, trying to hide behind her tangled hair. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it..."

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," interrupted Dumbledore, before Ginny could figure out how to explain about Tom -- about Riddle -- being almost exactly like a real friend at the beginning. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment."

 _What?_ But she'd let Tom out! She'd kept his secrets all year, even when she'd had chance after chance to tell someone about him. If she'd taken the diary to the professors in January, for example, Hermione and Percy's girlfriend would be fine right now. She'd done everything wrong.

"Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore continued serenely, striding across Professor McGonagall's office and opening the door. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up." He smiled down at Ginny, his blue eyes twinkling reassuringly.

She cried harder, ducking her head and pressing the ruined handkerchief to her face. This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. She was supposed to be punished -- forgiven, maybe, but still punished. She wasn't innocent. She didn't deserve to escape blame.

"You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake," Dumbledore said, looking at Mum and Dad. "She's just giving out Mandrake juice -- I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" Ron said brightly.

If losing nearly a month of her life was okay, then yes, Hermione was fine. Once again, Ginny wanted to smack her brother.

Dumbledore stooped and tipped Ginny's chin up. "There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," he said.

"There could have been," she whispered.

"But there was not. Remember that."

"Come on, Ginny," said Mum, stepping toward the doorway and offering her hand. "I think... I think we need to talk. But not now. You need to rest." She gathered Ginny in close and led her and Dad out the door -- at Dumbledore's signal, Ron stayed behind, with Harry.

They walked in silence to the hospital wing.

\---------------------------------------------

Madam Pomfrey restored the Petrified students (and cat and ghost) shortly after midnight. There was also a massive celebration in the Great Hall. Ginny slept through both events, quarantined in a private room off the main infirmary.

"Your father's gone home to tidy the house and feed the chickens," said Mum the next morning. "He'll be back for lunch. Your brothers all came to visit last night, but I said there was no point in them staying so we sent them off to the feast.

"I'm fine, really," Ginny said as Mum levitated a tray towards her that held buttered toast, jam, bacon, kippers, sausage, a bowl of porridge, and a tall glass of pumpkin juice. "You don't have to watch me eat."

"Maybe not, but I want to," said Mum, and sat down beside Ginny's bed with an air of great resolve. "I've obviously been rubbish at watching out for you all year -- you could have _told_ us you were in trouble! -- but I'm going to start making up for that now."

Ginny stared morosely at the massive breakfast. She didn't want Mum to watch out for her. She wanted to be alone, so she wouldn't have to act fine and cheerful and _normal_ to keep people from smothering her.

Tom was dead. Ginny had only escaped being a murderer through sheer dumb luck -- any of a hundred tiny changes in the past year and she would have killed him or he would have used her body to kill someone else.

Harry had killed Tom.

Ginny stirred the porridge, watching the glop scab over in the wake of the spoon. But Harry hadn't _planned_ to kill Tom, not like she'd tried to. He'd just done something to the diary -- maybe stabbed it with the basilisk's missing fang? -- while he was fighting for his life and trying to save her. Which she hadn't deserved.

Anyhow, that wasn't murder. Not exactly. Ginny wasn't sure how to articulate the difference, but she was sure there was one.

Tom could have helped her find the right words.

"All the stirring in the world won't do you any good until you put some in your mouth and swallow," Mum said sharply. "Ginny, you need to eat. Are you certain you're all right? Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey?"

Ginny dropped the spoon and took a bite of toast instead, chewing pointedly.

"Oh, Ginny." Mum raised one hand as if to touch Ginny's hair. Ginny leaned away, and Mum's face tightened. "Ignoring me won't fix anything," she said. "Talk to me, Ginny. What happened to you this year? Why didn't you ask anyone for help? What were you _thinking?_ "

"I thought it was my problem!" Ginny said. "I let Riddle out -- I thought he was my friend -- so it was my responsibility to stop him. You have to fix what you break, right?" She tore off a corner of the toast and pinched it between her fingers. "But I couldn't fix it. I'm useless. Harry shouldn't have bothered saving me."

Mum went white. " _Ginevra Weasley!_ Don't you ever, _ever_ say that again! It was not your fault. Dumbledore said so, and I remember what it was like before You-Know-Who vanished -- all the whispers and lies, and how hard it was to see right from wrong. If it was _him_ in that diary, there was nothing you could have done to stop him. And everyone deserves to be saved. Especially you."

Ginny crumbled another corner of the toast, getting butter on her fingers. "Fine." Maybe it didn't matter whether she deserved to live or not -- Harry would have tried to save anyone, because that was just how he was. But Mum was wrong about the rest. Ginny hadn't been helpless. She could have done more to stop Tom. You could always do something.

It was just that some people got things right -- like Harry, or Dumbledore -- while other people did everything wrong -- like her.

She set down the toast and drank a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Listen to me, Ginny. You are not worthless. You are not evil. You were tricked and manipulated by the most dangerous wizard in the past fifty years," Mum said fiercely. "This was _not your fault_."

Ginny threw the glass across the room.

"YES IT WAS!" She threw the porridge after the pumpkin juice and twisted to glare at Mum. "It doesn't matter if Tom-- if Riddle did horrible things to me, too. I'm still the one who let him out! I'm the one who didn't tell anybody when I got suspicious, and I'm the one who just threw the diary away instead of killing him properly! I'm the one who was stupid enough to think I could fix everything all by myself! It _was so_ my fault. Stop trying to tell me it wasn't! Stop _lying!_ "

"Ginny--"

"That's what Tom said," Ginny said, shouting over Mum. "'You had nothing to do with it, Ginevra,' he said. 'You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,' he said. 'You're lucky you escaped from the Heir,' he said. And he was laughing at me all the time -- I know he was, the toad-licking _bastard_. But I know b-better."

"Ginny--"

Ginny kept talking, pouring it all out before second thoughts could catch up and choke her. She had to make Mum understand. "I _could so_ have done something to stop him. I could have made proper friends instead of writing to him all the time. I could have asked for help. I could have looked up the spell he asked me to cast. Don't tell me it wasn't my fault! Because it was.

"It _w-was_ ," she repeated, her voice catching, and now the stupid, stupid tears were gumming up her eyes again. "I know it was his fault more -- he was the one who wanted to hurt people -- but it was my fault too."

"Oh, Ginny," said Mum, and gathered her into a tight hug. "Hush. It's all right now. He's dead, he can't hurt you anymore. Cry it out, Ginny. I'm here now."

She rocked Ginny back and forth, like a baby in arms, until they both ran out of tears.

\---------------------------------------------

While Mum tidied the room, Ginny pulled herself more or less together and managed to eat a whole slice of toast and most of the porridge. Then she pretended to doze, so as to avoid any more awkward conversations. This backfired somewhat -- she really did fall asleep -- and then she had to scramble to clean up before Dad arrived at noon.

"How is she?" he asked Mum, sticking his head in through the doorway.

"I'm fine," Ginny said before Mum could say anything incriminating. "Can we get something from the kitchen and eat outside? I'm sick of being in hospital." She raked her fingers through her damp hair and decided she looked good enough for family.

Mum and Dad exchanged a long, unreadable look, and then Dad shrugged. "I remember the way to the kitchens. Why don't you fetch the boys, Molly -- Ginny, come with me."

The whole afternoon was like that: nobody would leave Ginny alone for more than a minute, and everyone was constantly watching her with worried faces when they thought she wasn't looking. Even the twins were oddly subdued.

"Really, I'm fine," said Ginny as Dad folded the red-checked blanket and Mum tucked the used dishes back into the wicker basket. "Riddle's gone, I've slept, I've eaten, and this is Hogwarts -- nothing is going to happen to me. I just want to catch up on my studying. I was, er, _distracted_ last week, and I don't want to fail my exams."

Ron blinked. "You didn't hear? Exams are cancelled! There's no point studying now -- why don't we walk around the lake instead?"

Ginny stifled a snarl. Why couldn't anyone see that she needed some time to herself?

"The point of studying is to learn the material so she won't have problems next year," said Percy, offering his hand to pull Ginny up. "While it's been lovely to see you, I do think it would be helpful for us to return to our normal routines," he added to Mum and Dad. "I'll escort Ginny to Gryffindor tower."

Ginny could have kissed him.

"I'll be fine," she reiterated as Mum wavered. "Percy will keep an eye out, and I swear I'll write to you if anything happens."

"Let the children be," said Dad. "They're past the age when parents are the solution to every problem, Molly." He rested a hand on Mum's shoulder.

"Oh, fine," said Mum. "We'll walk you back to the castle, though." She cast yet another worried glance at Ginny, which Ginny did her best to ignore.

"Fair enough," Percy agreed, and led the way back up the hill, still holding Ginny's hand.

"Thanks," Ginny said, scuffing her feet through the grass and clover.

Percy shrugged. "Our parents don't always know when to leave well enough alone. I suspect you could use a few hours to let everything settle, but I won't fly interference forever, so don't be surprised if Fred and George start pushing at you soon."

"As if you could stop the twins anyhow," said Ginny, but she smiled to show she didn't mean anything by it. Percy was a prat, but in some ways he was more like Bill than any of her other brothers. Pepperup potion aside, he knew when to back off and let someone be, which was more than the twins, Charlie, or Ron had ever learned. Well, no, she was being unfair. Charlie and Ron had their moments. It was just Fred and George who were impossible.

Besides, she owed Percy. "I'm sorry I Petrified your girlfriend," she muttered. "Is she all right?"

Percy's hand tightened around hers, and he glanced back to make sure the others were out of earshot. "Yes, Penelope is doing well," he said a bit stiffly. "Don't apologize for that. You weren't the one who Petrified her; she told me you shouted a warning."

"But I'm the one who gave Riddle the _chance_ to Petrify people," Ginny said, trying to explain. Why was it so hard for people to understand? "I'm not saying I wanted to hurt anyone, but I'm the one who was stupid enough to trust Riddle. I should've realized something was wrong, and then I should've done something useful instead of just chucking the diary into a toilet and pretending everything would get better if I didn't think about it."

Percy sighed in the overly dramatic fashion he used to preface a lecture. "Ginny. Be logical. You had no reason, initially, to think that Riddle was anything other than a friend, correct?"

"I should've known about not seeing his brain--"

"Ginny." Percy stared at her with his most condescending expression, the one that asked why the world saw fit to persecute him by surrounding him with idiots (or with the twins, which was often the same thing).

"Yeah, I thought he was my friend," said Ginny, sulkily.

"What sort of person would you be if you constantly suspected your friends of being dark wizards?" asked Percy, still sounding infuriatingly calm and logical.

"A toad-licking cow," said Ginny. "But I still should have known!"

Percy sighed. "You can lead a horse to water..." He released Ginny's hand as they reached the castle doors and said, "I don't blame you. You did your best in very trying circumstances, and I'm proud of you as your brother and as a fellow Gryffindor. Now smile, or Mum and Dad might decide to stay through dinner."

The family gathered in a lopsided circle in front of the doors, everyone a bit awkward and unsure of the next move. Finally George reached over and took the wicker basket from Mum, which jolted Fred into grabbing the blanket from Dad.

"We'll take these back to the kitchen," said George. "See you in a few weeks."

"Don't worry, we promise not to try topping Ron and Ginny's trouble," added Fred, with a decent imitation of his usual grin. He and George ducked into the castle before Mum could work past her spluttering and start yelling properly.

"I never!" she said, frowning after them. "This is no time for jokes."

Dad wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Maybe it is, Molly -- they do say laughter is the best medicine. We're trying to get back to normal, and for those two, inappropriate jokes _are_ normal." He turned to Ginny. "Write to us, Ginny. You can always ask for help or advice."

Ginny pasted a weak smile on her face. "Sure. Erm. About that -- how do you know where an enchanted object keeps its brain? I didn't know where Riddle kept his, but I can't tell where the portraits and the suits of armor do their thinking either, and I know there must be a difference since they're not evil. At least, I think they're not evil..."

Beside her, Percy coughed. "Ginny. They keep their brains in their heads, like everyone else does." Dad nodded in agreement.

"In their heads," Ginny repeated. "Oh." And she'd complained about all the other students being illogical. She felt unutterably stupid.

"Never mind that now, Ginny. Just... get your strength back. It's a beautiful spring -- you haven't got exams -- we're all here if you need us -- so don't worry. It'll be all right," said Dad. He reached out and pulled her into a one-armed hug; Mum squeezed her from the other side, wrapping her up completely.

It was comfortable. It was safe. It was a trap.

"I should make sure Fred and George haven't done anything unfortunate with the picnic supplies," said Percy. "Ron, why don't you take Ginny to see Harry and Hermione? I'm sure they'd like to know she's doing well, and Ginny hasn't seen Hermione since she was restored."

Mum and Dad took the hint and let Ginny go, slowly. "You _will_ write to us," said Mum as Percy opened the doors and walked into the shadowed entrance hall.

"Yeah. And I'll be fine. Really I will," Ginny said. She slipped into the castle and swung the door shut behind Ron, closing Mum and Dad outside in the brilliant sunshine. "So. Where's Hermione?"

"No idea. Five Knuts on the library?" said Ron, venturing a smile.

If everything were normal, she would grin and take the bet. Nothing was normal. But if she didn't try to move on, wouldn't that be like letting Tom win all over again?

"Five Knuts on the common room," Ginny said, and let Ron laugh and lead her off into the depths of the castle.

\---------------------------------------------

The common room was nearly empty -- there were more interesting places to be on such a lovely spring day, better places to celebrate -- but a few upper years were revising for OWLs and NEWTs, which Dumbledore hadn't had the authority to cancel. They glanced up as Ron and Ginny climbed in through the portrait hole, and then stared at Ginny. She couldn't tell what they were thinking: pity, curiosity, contempt? She flinched. Ron snarled under his breath and the pressure of a dozen eyes slid aside.

"Bloody useless wankers, all of them," Ron muttered. "And you were right; I'll pay you later."

Harry and Hermione were ensconced in the back corner of the common room, muttering about something -- possibly Charms or Transfiguration, judging from Hermione's open books, or possibly something more private, judging by the way they broke off at Ron and Ginny's approach. Harry smiled awkwardly.

"Ginny. Erm. Are you all right?"

Ginny felt herself flush scarlet. "Sure," she mumbled. "Er, are _you_ okay?"

Harry looked down at Hermione's books. "I'm fine."

"Lovely," said Hermione, scooping up the books and closing them with a brisk snap. "Will you two go away for a bit and keep anyone from wandering back here? I want to talk to Ginny."

"About what?" asked Ron, suspiciously. "You know it wasn't her fault, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not completely dense, thanks ever so. I just want to ask a few questions in order to get everything clear. Shoo."

Harry levered himself out of his squashy armchair and trudged off to the fireplace without any protest. Grudgingly, Ron followed. Hermione motioned Ginny toward Harry's abandoned chair and then stared at her interlaced hands.

"I tried to warn you," Ginny said after a long silence. She tipped her head down, letting her hair fall forward into her face. "I'm sorry I couldn't shut him out sooner. I'm sorry I didn't tell anyone I was in trouble. If I hadn't tried to fix everything on my own--"

"What's done is done; there's no point playing 'what if' all the way back to the beginning of the year," Hermione interrupted. "Mostly I wanted to ask what possession felt like... if that's okay, of course. If you don't want to talk about it--"

"I don't," said Ginny.

"Oh." Hermione bit her lip. "Sorry."

"But maybe I should anyhow," Ginny said, picking at the carved oak knob at the end of the chair's arm. "Erm. It was dark, mostly. At first, it was like dreaming -- I sleepwalked a lot -- but I suppose after a while Tom got-- I mean, Riddle got strong enough to shove me all the way down. I hardly remember anything about the last bits, just flashes where I almost got to the surface." She dug her fingernails into the grain of the wood, working a sliver loose. "I don't remember going to the library, but I remember walking down the corridor toward you. After I yelled, it's all black. He shoved me back down."

"It was awfully brave of you," said Hermione. "I had a mirror out to show Penelope Clearwater, but if you hadn't yelled, I might not have turned in time. We might have been eaten instead of Petrified."

Ginny shrugged, minimally, and snapped the splinter in half. "Maybe. Or maybe Riddle wanted you alive. He was trying to get at Harry so he didn't want the school closed, not at first."

Hermione chewed harder on her lip. "Then why did he take you to the Chamber? He had no way to know Harry and Ron would come after you."

Ginny pried loose another sliver of wood and turned it around and around in her fingers. "Because the Mandrakes were grown and all the Petrified people were going to be restored. You'd all seen or heard me, so the professors would come get the diary. Checkmate. He must have figured it was better to kill me fast and get a proper body -- he'd make a new plan from there." She snapped the splinter; one end dug into her thumb, drawing blood. "It almost worked. It should have worked."

"But Harry stopped him."

"Harry killed him," Ginny agreed. She pricked her other thumb with the splinter, watching her blood well up like scarlet ink.

"Don't do that," Hermione said fiercely, leaning across the low table and knocking the splinter out of Ginny's grip. "You did the best you could and now it's over. The Heir is gone. We're safe."

Ginny laughed; it echoed oddly in her chest and throat, hissed between her clenched teeth. "You know the stupidest part? I was going to take the diary to Professor McGonagall and confess everything. I knew how to shut him out, almost, most of the time. But there was a hole in my sock -- I was trying not to touch the diary, so I put socks on my hands -- and there was a hole in my sock. That's how he got me. Because I was in such a hurry to get rid of him that I didn't take time to be c-careful."

The laugher kept bubbling up, as unstoppable as last night's tears, carving her voice into little spurts and jolts. She was stuttering again. She didn't care. "Harry d-didn't take time to be careful either! But it _works_ for him. He killed the b-basilisk. He killed Tom. He sh-should've died, just like me, but he didn't. Why does everything work out for him and n-not for _me?_ "

Hermione grabbed her by the shoulders and shook, hard. "Breathe, Ginny," she said. "Put your head between your knees and breathe."

Ginny obeyed. After a minute the laughter trailed off, leaving her sore and embarrassed. "Sorry."

Hermione waved one hand, brushing away Ginny's apology. "Don't worry about it. You've every right to be upset. Just try not to be stupid about it."

Ginny choked back more laughter. Try not to be stupid? Oh, if only!

"Look, you're right. Harry rushed into things without thinking. He does that," Hermione continued. "The difference is that he didn't rush in alone. He had Ron and Professor Lockhart, and then Fawkes and the Sorting Hat. He would have died on his own. You fought the Heir all alone for months, and you held him to a draw until the end. So don't think Harry's any better than you, because he's not. He's awfully dense sometimes."

She patted Ginny's hand, awkwardly. "And thanks for warning me."

"It wasn't anything," said Ginny. "Anyone would've tried to stop him."

Hermione shook her head. "No. An awful lot of people would've been too scared to go against the Heir, especially if he was inside their heads. You remember what everyone was like after Hallowe'en and the Dueling Club. You stood up to him. That means a lot."

"I suppose," said Ginny. She pried herself out of the chair and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Thanks for listening, anyhow."

"Thank you for letting me ask," Hermione said, opening her Transfiguration book again. "You can send Ron and Harry back now -- even if we don't have final exams, there's no excuse for them not to learn the material."

"Sure," Ginny said, and trudged off. Finally she could get some peace.

\---------------------------------------------

It was barely past two o'clock, but Ginny pulled her bed curtains shut, crawled under the covers, and dozed until the other first years clattered into the room in a laughing mob. Nearly suppertime, then -- they usually dropped by to tidy up and put away schoolwork before heading down to the Great Hall.

"Hey," said Gwen. "Look at Ginny's bed. D'you think she's back from hospital?"

"Yes, I am," said Ginny, twitching open a small gap in the curtains. "No, I don't want to talk about it. Go away."

"Figures," Susan muttered, with a sour look. "You'd think nearly dying would make a person reconsider her priorities in life, but no such luck."

"Well, _I'd_ think nearly dying would win a person some time to catch her breath and try to wrap her head around what happened," Ginny snapped. "But maybe that's just me."

Susan had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry."

After a moment, Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, me too. But I still don't want to talk about it. Erm. Will you tell my brothers I'm fine but I don't feel up to facing the whole school yet, so could they bring me a sandwich or something?"

"Certainly," said Apple, with a sharp nod. "However, before we go, will you answer one question?"

Ginny shoved the curtains further open and flopped back down on her side, glaring at the floor. "Maybe. Ask me and I'll see."

Apple tapped her fingers against her night table, an oddly nervous gesture. "Colin said you were the last person he saw before he raised his camera and looked at the basilisk. That implies that you were either controlling the basilisk or working with the Heir." Ginny flinched and tried to ignore the other girls' hungry stares.

"But the Heir abducted you and Headmaster Dumbledore told everyone that Harry Potter and your brother Ron barely managed to save your life," Apple continued, her dry, analytical tone at odds with the rapid drumming of her fingers. "That doesn't make sense, unless the Heir turned on you and broke a partnership, or unless the Heir was using you against your will or without your knowledge. You can be unpleasant and stand-offish, but I don't think you'd enjoy Petrifying people. So were you tricked or were you possessed?"

Ginny dug her fingernails into her sheets and forced back the hot, shameful prickle of tears. She was not going to start crying. Not again. Never again.

"Both," she said. "But mostly possessed, by the end."

Jia-li gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth. Apple stilled her fingers and nodded, satisfied to have a clear answer. Susan and Gwen looked skeptical.

"That doesn't make sense," Gwen protested. "Why would the Heir need to possess anyone? Couldn't he cast his own spells?"

Ginny glared at the wall. "Didn't Dumbledore tell everyone?" If he thought she was a victim, why not explain things so people wouldn't keep pushing at her?

Susan shook her head. "He said the Heir abducted you and that Harry Potter saved you. That's all. He may be a great wizard, but he's rubbish at explanations. So who was the Heir? If anyone knows, you ought to."

Who was the Heir? Tom Riddle. Voldemort. A memory. A diary. Her friend, her enemy, her confidant -- almost her brother -- the only person who'd really seen her for months. Maybe the only person who'd ever seen all of her.

"His name was Riddle, and he was... sort of a ghost," Ginny said slowly. "He opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago and he left a memory of himself in a diary. I found the diary at the end of summer and started writing in it. I thought he was my friend, but he was just using me to open the Chamber again. He would've used anyone stupid enough to trust him." She shrugged, rolling onto her back and scrubbing irritably at her burning eyes. "You don't have to worry. Harry killed him."

"Oh!" said Jia-li. "He was using you _all year?_ That must have been awful." She took a tentative step toward Ginny's bed, hands fluttering as if she wanted to help and had no idea how.

"I still think it sounds fishy," said Gwen, folding her arms. "What sort of spell could stick a memory in a diary, without any picture to tie the likeness to? And how do you kill a diary, anyway?"

Ginny dug her hands into her bedcovers to keep from making fists or lunging across the room. "Why would I know how to put a memory in a diary? Do I look like a dark witch to you? And I don't know what Harry did to the diary, either. I was unconscious! Because I'd been _possessed_."

"If I were a dark witch, I'd try to look like everyone else," said Susan, "otherwise I'd be pretty dim. You're a stuck-up cow, but you're not stupid. Maybe Harry Potter was in league with the Heir. Maybe you both were. If this Riddle opened the Chamber fifty years ago, but nobody ever knew it was him, he must have fooled everyone back then. Maybe you just played innocent to fool Dumbledore now."

"Stop it!" said Jia-li. "Stop it, both of you. Maybe Ginny's been unpleasant a lot of the time, but it obviously wasn't her fault. Don't push at her. Think how you'd feel if _you'd_ been possessed all year, and once you'd finally got free, nobody believed you. We were wrong about thinking Harry Potter might be the Heir. Let's not do the same thing to Ginny."

It _was so_ her fault, Ginny wanted to say, and she didn't care if anyone thought she was as evil as Tom, because only idiots would be too stubborn and thick to see the truth after Dumbledore told them... but she managed to bite her tongue before she made everything worse all over again.

"You really were possessed?" asked Gwen after a moment.

Ginny nodded. "Not all the time, but he used my body for the attacks. There was a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, and he needed a body to speak with it."

"A basilisk?" said Susan.

"It's a giant snake, hatched from a chicken egg incubated by a toad," said Apple. "If you look directly into its eyes, you die instantly, but if you only see it in a reflection, supposedly you turn to stone. Apparently that detail was slightly inaccurate; the Petrification is metaphorical, not literal."

Susan ignored most of this. "A giant snake. So the Heir _was_ a Parselmouth! Ha!"

"But Harry Potter's innocent," said Gwen, slowly. "What a mess. Two Parselmouths, an evil diary, possession, dead roosters, a basilisk... Wow." She whistled, long and low, and when she looked over at Ginny again, she seemed oddly respectful. "I can't believe you lasted all year against a dark wizard, especially when he'd got into your head. That was awfully brave of you. I bet I'd have gone mad by Christmas."

Yes, well, if Ginny had realized sooner what was going on, she might have gone mad too. She'd only lasted this well because she'd been too stupid to notice Tom's lies, so he hadn't needed to treat her as a threat.

"That's as may be," said Susan, "but off and on possession doesn't explain why Ginny's been such a cow the rest of the time. I don't think the Heir cared about _us_ , so she's got no excuse for being stuck-up and standoffish and treating us like dirt. I notice she hasn't apologized for any of that."

"Susan!" said Jia-li, sounding scandalized.

"I'm not going to apologize, either!" said Ginny, utterly furious. "You've been just as horrid to me, and you're still doing it! And I don't want to talk about any of this anymore." A stray tear seeped over the edge of her left eye. Toad guts. Why was her body still betraying her like this? She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Especially not in front of Susan.

"Fair enough," Apple said briskly. "We'll leave you in peace for the moment and I'll bring you a sandwich in an hour or so." She pushed Susan toward the doorway. After a moment, Gwen followed.

Jia-li turned in the doorway and cast a sympathetic smile back at Ginny. "I'm so sorry we didn't notice that you were hurting," she whispered. "If there's anything I can do to help, please tell me." She closed the door.

Ginny choked back a sob and grabbed for a handkerchief, blotting tears and blowing her nose. Everything was wrong. People were supposed to blame her, not pity her. Why couldn't anyone see that she hadn't been innocent?

She buried her face in her pillow and waited for the tears to go away.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny didn't need to go to lessons on Monday -- Dumbledore had excused all the Heir's victims from lessons for two days, and he'd included her in the list -- but she went down to breakfast with the other first years anyhow. She'd been expecting accusations, disbelief, or shunning, but everyone seemed to be following Jia-li's path instead of Susan's. The space around her echoed with pity and fascination, as if people thought she was innocent and wounded and fragile, and they weren't quite sure how to offer sympathy without sounding like prats.

And all right, Dumbledore had _said_ she'd been just as much Tom's victim as anyone else, but it wasn't the same. Colin, Hermione, Sir Nicholas, Penelope Clearwater, and Justin Finch-Fletchley hadn't talked to Tom. They hadn't had any chance to figure out what was going on, or to fight back. Ginny'd had those chances and failed to use them. That was the difference.

Ron cast her a worried look but she faked a smile and waved him off toward Harry and Hermione. The twins and Percy were already amongst friends, which made them easy to avoid. Ginny grabbed a seat in the middle of an empty section and began to spread marmalade on a slice of toast.

Apple sat down beside her.

Ginny fumed. She didn't want sympathy. She didn't want Apple saying 'I told you so' or analyzing everything in her chilly way, either. She wanted to be alone.

Apple served herself a bowl of porridge, asked Ginny to pass the salt, and then ate in silence. Ginny fidgeted, waiting for her to start a conversation. Apple remained silent, almost as if Ginny weren't there at all.

After five minutes, Ginny lost her patience. "What do you want?"

"At the moment, I want to finish eating," said Apple, resting her spoon on the rim of her bowl. "Do I need ulterior motives for choosing an empty seat?"

"When it's next to me, yes!"

Apple sighed. "Fine. Let me think of something intrusive to ask you." She twirled her spoon between her fingers for a moment, then said, "This morning is Double Potions. Do you feel steady enough to face Snape? Depending on his mood, he may discuss your ordeal in all sorts of unflattering terms."

"I don't care what he says anymore," said Ginny, tearing her toast in half. "He's nothing."

Apple hummed noncommittally. "What about Daphne?"

"We still have a truce, don't we?" said Ginny. "I'm not going to break." That would be letting Tom win.

"I'm sure you know yourself best," said Apple, and stood from the table, leaving Ginny to stew in splendid isolation.

Ginny decided to skip Potions after all.

\---------------------------------------------

The trouble with not going to lessons, of course, was that she had no idea what to do instead. All that time she'd wanted to be alone, and she still didn't know how to start wrapping her head around everything. This was why she'd talked to Tom -- he'd helped her put her thoughts in order, helped her understand what was going on and how she wanted to react.

He'd also been twisting her around so she'd trust him and have no use for anyone else, but still. She needed to talk to someone. Telling Hermione a bit of the story had helped, but she couldn't lay it all out for just anyone. She couldn't bear for people to know how ugly she was inside.

Ginny paused in her aimless wandering and realized she'd wound up outside Myrtle's bathroom. _Again_.

Which reminded her of Sir Vladislav... and Ginny frowned. Tom had gone down to the Chamber several times. Why hadn't Sir Vladislav noticed Ginny's body walking in and out of Myrtle's bathroom? He couldn't have been asleep through all of the attacks.

Ginny turned and walked to his alcove. The armor stood at attention, motionless, and her frown deepened. "Sir Vladislav?" He didn't respond.

Ginny sighed and drew her wand. Tom again. She didn't know what he'd done, how long the spell would last, or how to counter it specifically, but if he'd been hasty or lazy, she didn't need to know the details. " _Finite incantatem_ ," she said.

Sir Vladislav jerked back to life, drawing his sword half out of its sheath before he paused, shook his helmet, and shivered all over in a rustle of steel and leather. He offered his sword to Ginny and awkwardly sat down on his pedestal. Ginny leaned the sword against the marble and handed him parchment and a quill.

 _"Thank you,"_ Sir Vladislav wrote. _"Wat happened? I thout I saw you with a bucket of paint, but now you have no bucket and the lite is different. Is the kastle safe? Ar you well?"_

Was she well? Of course not. But she was free and safe, which was probably what he'd meant. "More or less," said Ginny. "I'd shut Tom out -- really I had -- and I was going to take the diary to Professor McGonagall and confess. But I touched the cover by accident, and let Tom back into my head."

She slumped to the floor and tipped her head against the cold marble of Sir Vladislav's pedestal, staring at the vaulted ceiling. "He possessed me. He'd been possessing me all year -- you remember -- only this time, instead of attacking someone else, he decided to steal my life and make himself a new body. He left another message on the wall, which is probably what you saw me starting to do with the paint." She closed her eyes. "You must have seen him all year, only he kept freezing you. I bet he made you forget, too; he was good at twisting minds."

Sir Vladislav rested his gauntlet on her shoulder, and Ginny continued. "He took me down to the Chamber of Secrets. The entrance was in Myrtle's bathroom -- how silly is that, to put a secret passage in a bathroom? But it worked, I suppose, since it stayed hidden for a thousand years. Anyhow, Harry and Ron and Professor Lockhart went down after me, and Harry killed the basilisk Tom was using to Petrify everyone. Then he killed Tom. So it's all over. I'm safe. I'm free."

Ginny jammed the heels of her hands over her closed eyelids. The stupid tears leaked out anyway. "Dumbledore says it's not my fault, that I was just another victim. Everyone agrees with him. They all stare at me like I'm helpless, like I didn't spend so long fighting Tom, like I didn't do _anything_. I wasn't helpless! You know that, don't you? You saw! You heard! You know how hard I t-tried."

Sir Vladislav squeezed her shoulder. His other gauntlet ran lightly over her hair, the way Mum used to do when Ginny woke from nightmares.

"I don't want anyone to hate me, but I think I might go mad if they keep on like this," said Ginny. "Nobody else saw, after all, so what if I only imagined trying to fight Tom? What if it was all a fairy-tale he made me believe, so I wouldn't do anything _r-real_ to get in his way? What if I really was helpless?" She pounded her fist on the marble pedestal, and then again, setting a hot, dull ache spreading through skin and bone. "But I wasn't. I _wasn't_."

She swung her fist again, but Sir Vladislav caught it before she could hit stone, cradling her hand in the steel and leather of his gauntlet.

Ginny wrenched her hand free and hunched forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I want to apologize, but how can I apologize if no one admits I did anything wrong?" She stared at the floor tiles, refusing to turn and look at Sir Vladislav. She couldn't stand it if he pitied her.

After a moment, she heard the faint scratching sound of a quill on parchment. Sir Vladislav paused several times, either re-inking the quill or considering his words, and then he held the sheet of parchment over her shoulder.

Ginny pulled it forward.

 _"I know you fouht,"_ Sir Vladislav had written. _"I saw. I remember. Wenn you saw Tom was evil, you stood agenst him insted of surrendering. You did not always make wise choisses, but you chose and you lived with wat you had chosen. Now you have new choisses to make. Wat is more important to you? That YOU remember your deeds and lern from them, or that you make every one else to see the truth?_

_"I once heard a story of a nite, Sir Gawane, who played a game with a lord. Each day they woud give each other any thing they were given, and for to days Gawane played true. But on the third day, he kept a belt with a spell to shield himself, because he was going to find a nite all in green to whom he had promised to bare his neck and aksept one blow. Then Gawane lerned that the green nite was the lord he had played with, and he was shamed. Wenn he told the story to his frends, they laffed and did not understand that he had done rong. But Gawane knew, and he kept the belt to remind himself of honour._

_"You know that you fouht, and you know wat you did rong. Will you remember honour? Will you still stand agenst evil? Will you lern from your mistakes?"_

Ginny blew her nose and scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to clear her mind. "I won't try to do everything by myself anymore," she said. "I think that's where I went wrong. I couldn't bear to tell anyone, so I never had any help, not like Harry did at the end. But I won't stop fighting, either. If I see evil, I'll stand against it. I swear."

 _"Good,"_ Sir Vladislav wrote. Then he paused and looked at Ginny with an uncertain set to his shoulders.

"Whatever you're going to say, just say it," Ginny told him. "I'm sick of being babied."

Sir Vladislav scribbled quickly, then handed parchment, quill, and ink to Ginny with an air of finality. _"I woud not koddle you. How can you lern from your errors if no one shows you wer you made an unfortunate choiss? And choisses ar the most important thing, because they reveal the shapes of our souls. Tom chose evil. You were slow to chuse, and fearful, but in the end you wer true of hart. That is good._

_"But one fite is never the end, and not all evil is so dark and obvius as Tom. We chuse every hour and every day, in small things and larj, and ar not saved until the end of life. It is said, faith, hope, and charitie abide, but the gratest virtue is charitie. You have a good hart. Trust it."_

As Ginny read the note, Sir Vladislav clambered back to his feet, standing at watch with his sword resting point down before him.

Ginny folded the parchment into quarters, pressing each crease to a flat, even edge. "I know I can't stop watching out for trouble," she said, "and I know I messed up a lot. I said that. But I don't think trusting my heart is a good idea -- I'm obviously no good at figuring out who's evil or not, and then I wasted so much time hoping Tom wasn't really the Heir or that maybe I could talk to him and change him instead of just killing him."

Sir Vladislav held out his hand, but instead of accepting the ink and quill, he unfolded the parchment and pointed at what he'd already written: _"Will you lern from your mistakes?"_

"Oh, fine, be like that," said Ginny. "I can tell when I'm not wanted." She stuffed the parchment into her bag. Then she paused, not quite willing to storm off; it felt as if that would somehow be admitting defeat. "Shall I come back on Friday? I can bring some polish -- it's been a while since we cleaned you."

Sir Vladislav nodded.

"Until Friday, then," said Ginny. "And, er, thanks." As she turned to leave, Sir Vladislav saluted with a great flourish of steel, and bowed his head for a moment.

It was the sort of thing a knight would do before royalty, Ginny thought. She didn't deserve anything of the sort. So either he was mocking her -- which was ridiculous; she wasn't certain Sir Vladislav even had a sense of humor -- or he was... was _pushing_ at her, telling her what sort of example she ought to be living up to. Which was almost as bad as being mocked or pitied, in its own way.

She hadn't given in to Tom, and she _was_ going to do better from now on, but really, she wasn't ever going to be worthy of that sort of respect. She couldn't be that wise or brave or forgiving. She wasn't a hero; this year had proved that beyond a doubt.

Still.

There was no harm in trying, right?

She'd skipped Potions instead of facing her fears. She still didn't want to deal with any of the other first years, didn't want to explain herself, didn't want to endure their stares and questions and disdain or pity. But she couldn't hide forever. Life wouldn't go away just because she didn't want to deal with it.

That was how she'd gone wrong with Tom.

Ginny slunk into the Great Hall, glanced up at the clock over the professors' table, and ate a hurried lunch. Then she set off for the History of Magic classroom. The lesson would be over soon, and she needed to apologize to Colin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rowling does not care about emotional aftermaths. This is the entirety of her treatment of the last weeks at Hogwarts:
> 
>  _The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences -- Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but we've had plenty of practice at that anyway," Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. **On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.**_ [Emphasis mine]
> 
> Perfectly happy? Yeah right, and I have some oceanfront property in Arizona I'd like to sell you.
> 
> In many ways, "Secrets" began as a furious reaction to that one sentence. More generally, it's a reaction to the way Ginny is shoehorned out of what should be her own story -- the one where her choices drive the majority of the plot -- and turned into a cardboard plot device that Rowling moves around without bothering to make her actions seem coherent. You can easily read her experiences in CoS as an analogy to rape. Even without that lens, her relationship with Tom is unquestionably abusive and deeply damaging. But Rowling sweeps all that under the rug. Even if it's reasonable for Harry -- as a fairly self-centered and incurious preteen boy -- not to notice Ginny's struggles, it's an entirely different matter for the _narrative itself_ to write her off.
> 
> CoS is not my favorite book in the _Harry Potter_ series, but it's the one I find myself returning to the most, probably because of that sense that Rowling told the wrong story using the wrong narrator. I also return to CoS because social isolation is a theme I find fascinating -- it's sort of the inverse of my interest in writing about social networks: friends, families, and other communities -- and because the book offers our first real look at the prejudices and broken institutions of the wizarding world. But Ginny's narrative absence -- the hole at what should be the heart of the story -- keeps me circling around in the vain hope that maybe this time the story will be different. Will be right. Except it never is.
> 
> So of course I wrote a novel to fix that. *wry*


	14. Making It Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Fourteenth: In which Ginny attempts to make amends and regain something approximating a normal life, with varying degrees of success. If you pretend hard enough, can you make something true?

The trouble with making sure she got to Binns's classroom before everyone left was that Ginny accidentally arrived early and had to stand out in the corridor thinking about every way her apology could go wrong. What if Colin refused to listen? What if he hated her? What if she got so nervous she couldn't talk, and he thought she was making fun of him? What if Susan or Danny wouldn't even let her talk to Colin?

Ginny shifted her bag from her right shoulder to her left and drummed her fingers against the wall. She'd been standing here forever -- why hadn't the lesson ended already?

She tiptoed across the corridor and peered through the little window in the classroom door. Oh. It was ending right now -- the clock on the wall read quarter past one, and Apple had just raised her hand to ask a question that would distract Binns while the other Gryffindors prodded each other awake and slipped free. Once everyone was gone, Apple would find a way to extricate herself from the professor's endless droning.

She'd been doing that since September, and gratitude for the service was one reason nobody had really tried to ostracize her. Ginny suspected that Apple knew that and had begun her distractions on purpose. She might be a Gryffindor, but Apple was bound to have learned some more Slytherin tricks from Daphne.

Colin would be out in a minute. No, less than a minute. Ginny twirled a bit of hair around her fingers and yanked, trying to focus her thoughts.

What was she going to say to him? How _could_ she apologize -- not just for Petrifying him, but for sending him out on a fool's errand in the middle of the night, when she'd known it would only put Harry's back up? Colin was awfully annoying, but she should have held her tongue.

The door creaked open and the first years poured into the corridor, talking in low whispers until Eugene shut the door behind himself. They didn't huddle together like they'd done since Dumbledore's removal -- instead, everyone seemed cheerful despite their recent exposure to Binns's droning. Jia-li and Gwen even dashed around the corner without a backwards glance, laughing as they went.

Ginny hung back against the wall. But she had no convenient alcoves to hide in or suits of armor to defend her, and after a moment Eugene glanced over his shoulder and spotted her. "Oh, hi, Ginny. Susan told us about, er, well..." He frowned, groping for the right words. "About the Heir and so on. Are you all right? Do you want today's notes?" He pushed his glasses up his long nose and ventured a quizzical smile.

Ginny shook her head. "I'll ask Apple later. Erm. Colin?"

Colin Creevey stepped warily back toward the classroom door. "Yes?"

"Can I talk to you? Alone?"

Danny grabbed Colin's arm and glared at Ginny. "We're not letting him go off with anyone, especially not you," he said. "The last time he saw you, he got turned to stone!"

Ginny flushed, fighting a wash of guilt and rage. Yes, it had been her fault, but it wasn't as if she'd _meant_ to Petrify Colin, and Danny had no right to act like Ginny was going to hurt him now.

"Fine," she snapped. "I don't have anything to hide. Colin, I'm-- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you to sneak out at night. Harry wouldn't have appreciated your visit. I knew that, but I let you think he'd be pleased. I was being cruel and I had no right."

Colin said nothing.

"And-- and I'm sorry you were Petrified," continued Ginny. "I didn't know. I told Riddle everything because he pretended to be my friend, so he knew you'd be wandering around. Then he possessed me while I was sleeping. I didn't figure it out until a long time after. But you wouldn't have been out there if I hadn't been such a toad-licking idiot, so it's my fault whichever way you look at it. And I'm sorry."

The words poured out in a tumbling rush, leaving Ginny weak-kneed and wrung out, as if she'd been fighting to keep from saying them and the sudden lack of struggle left her unbalanced. She leaned back against the wall, wondering what Colin would say, or whether the others would listen for once.

"That still doesn't--" Susan started, but Colin held up a hand.

"Ginny's talking to me," he said. "Don't interrupt!" Susan grimaced, but held her tongue. Ginny blinked. When had Colin learned to take charge instead of bouncing around like an overexcited Billywig?

Colin took a deep breath and shook Danny's hand off his arm. "I can't forgive anybody yet because I'm still not sure what happened! It's May! I missed nearly all year! My camera's broken, I don't know what anybody told my family when I stopped writing to them, and I'm going to fail next year even if my dad lets me come back." He scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Susan didn't make any sense when she explained about the Heir. Can you tell me what happened, Ginny? Who's Riddle and why was he pretending to be your friend?"

"Tom Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin," said Ginny, silently cursing Susan and her useless explanations for making her drag this out again. "He left a memory of himself in a diary after he opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago, and I wrote to him all year. He pretended to be my friend so I wouldn't suspect him when everything started going wrong on Hallowe'en."

Ginny twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. Did she need to explain anything else? Colin was still watching her expectantly, so she probably ought to. She grimaced and continued. "Erm. I'm not sure about everything he was trying to do, but I think he only Petrified people to confuse the professors, and because he thought it was fun. He was more interested in making a new body so he could get out of the diary."

"How?" said Colin.

Toad guts. She didn't want to talk about Tom. It would sound like she was justifying herself, and this wasn't supposed to be about her. It was about Colin, and what Ginny owed him. "By draining other people's magic and lives," she said.

Jasper whistled. "Professor Dumbledore said Harry Potter saved your life. Was Riddle trying to kill you?"

Ginny shrugged. "By then, yes. He said I wasn't any other use. But that's got nothing to do with Colin! The point is that I was too stupid to see that he was lying to me, so I told him Colin was going to be near the infirmary that night. And Riddle... I think he thought it was fun to frame Harry, so he kept picking victims who looked like Harry might be angry at them. _I set Colin up for him_. I didn't know I was doing it, but I did know I was setting him up for Harry to yell at him, so it wasn't all an accident."

She turned back to Colin. "I'm sorry about that. I was angry at you for being annoying and bothering Harry, but that's no excuse for trying to make you feel like an idiot when you realized Harry didn't want you visiting him. I was a complete toad-licker and if you never want to talk to me again, I understand."

"Well, I think--" Susan started, but Ginny talked over her.

"And I'm sorry to everyone else, too. Not for everything -- I'm not sorry I called you all idiots when you thought Harry was the Heir, because you _were_ idiots -- but... I think I've been jumping to conclusions all year, at least a little." And she hated admitting that, especially with Susan and Danny watching her suspiciously, like they'd watched Harry when they'd thought he was the Heir. But it was true.

"Riddle didn't want me listening to anyone who might point out his lies, so he told me I was right whenever I thought the worst of someone. And I listened to him because-- because I wanted to think I was always right. And because I liked him, before I found out he was lying." Ginny caught Susan's eye and said, very deliberately, "So I probably yelled at you sometimes when I shouldn't have, and stuff like that. Even if we'll never be friends, I don't hate any of you and I don't really think you're toad-lickers. Much. Truce?"

"Now wait a minute--" Susan tried again.

"I forgive you," said Colin.

Susan turned, mouth still open, and stared. "What, for everything? She wasn't even possessed for half of it -- she _said_ so!"

"I still forgive her," said Colin. "I'm allowed." He walked across the corridor and offered his hand to Ginny. "I forgive you," he repeated. "Why don't we be friends? I'll try not to be annoying, you'll try not to be snappish, and we'll tell each other when we're slipping. Deal?"

Ginny grasped his hand in a daze. "Erm. Okay? And I suppose I can help you catch up in Herbology? Apple's probably given you notes for everything else already..."

"Yes I have, and thank you for your offer," said Apple, drawing everyone's attention as she shut the door to Binns's classroom with an audible click. She cast a cool eye over the gathering -- Eugene off to one side, expressionless; Jasper, Danny, and Susan clustered together in disgruntlement; Colin gripping Ginny's hand with determined cheer; Ginny leaning against the wall, flabbergasted -- and clapped her hands. "This looks fascinating, but may I suggest moving along? The fourth-year Slytherins will be here any minute."

"Point for you," said Eugene, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "Shall we go outdoors or to the common room?"

"You can go wherever you want," said Colin, "but _I'm_ going to the library with Ginny and Apple, to study."

Ginny blinked. They were? She supposed it was the decent thing to do, and if they found a table in the back corner, it would also get her away from people's curious, pitying stares.

"But you don't--!" said Susan, and paused. This time nobody interrupted, and she forged onward. "You don't even like Ginny! Why are you being nice after everything she did? She doesn't deserve it!"

Colin shrugged. "So? My little brother Dennis always gets me in trouble when I'm at home. That doesn't mean I hate him. Anyway, even if I wanted Ginny punished for helping me make an idiot of myself, being possessed and nearly killed is a lot worse than detention -- don't you think? I'm calling it even."

"That seems reasonable to me," said Apple. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we really must be going." She stepped around Susan, deftly detached Colin from Ginny, and began to pull them down the corridor.

"But--" Susan said again.

"Oh, bloody well let it go," said Jasper, clapping his hand on her shoulder. "If Colin wants to be friends with her, it's no skin off our backs. Come on, let's go down to the lake."

"What, are you going to try whistling up the squid _again?_ " asked Danny.

Ginny missed Jasper's response, his voice muffled by Apple's sudden turn into the stairwell. As they started up the steps, Ginny slid her hand free and glared at Apple's back. "You didn't need to be so abrupt. I would've come along without you dragging me."

"You're being snappish already," said Colin, poking her in the side. "Stop it."

"Oh, shut it," said Ginny, but she managed a limp imitation smile to show she wasn't really angry. "I can't stop being annoyed just by wishing, not without illegal magic."

"Of which there has already been far too much floating around the castle," said Apple as they reached the landing and headed down a narrow, twisty corridor toward the library. She turned and began walking backwards, eyeing Ginny and Colin with an appraising air. "Be honest: do you two truly intend to be friends, or shall we settle for study partners? I refuse to play peacemaker between you."

Ginny looked sideways at Colin. "You're an annoying twit, but you're no worse than my brothers. And you realized Harry couldn't be the Heir. I'm game if you are."

"You're bossy and too short-tempered, but nobody's perfect," said Colin, grinning at her. He bounced on his toes as he walked.

"Not even Harry Potter?" said Ginny, faking another smile.

Colin laughed. "Not even Harry Potter," he agreed. "Let's be friends."

Slowly, for the first time since the Chamber, Ginny's imitation smile firmed into something real.

\---------------------------------------------

The impromptu study session quickly settled into Apple leading Colin through the highlights of several months of Transfiguration theory. Ginny sat across from them and copied Apple's Potions notes from that morning, listening with half an ear in case Apple hit on any explanations that made more sense than Professor McGonagall's lessons. Eventually Colin closed his eyes and slumped forward to rest on the table. "Stop!" he said. "My brain hurts."

"Fair enough," said Apple, closing _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. "Ginny, are you finished with my notes or would you like me to clarify any points?"

Ginny flicked the feathered tip of her quill against her chin and stared down at the parchment. "Maybe a couple questions," she lied. Apple's notes did skip some intermediate steps, but Ginny was perfectly capable of filling in the blanks herself -- unlike Transfiguration, Potions made sense. But she wanted to talk to Apple without Colin around.

"Have fun," Colin said, sweeping his notes into his bag and standing up from the high-backed library chair. "Erm. D'you mind if we eat dinner together? I don't like how everybody stares at me and keeps asking what it felt like being Petrified."

Ginny and Apple agreed to sit next to him, and watched him dash away through the shelves. Then Apple turned back to Ginny with a considering expression. "You don't need help with Potions," she said. "You're better in that class than I am. What do you really want to talk about?" 

Ginny shoved Apple's notes across the table with a grimace. "Could you not act like you're reading my mind? It's creepy." Especially after Tom.

"I apologize for being observant," Apple said dryly. Then she frowned and corrected herself. "No, I apologize for being unobservant and insensitive. I thought something was off about you since Hallowe'en, but I was too annoyed to look closely. I suppose I'll always wonder if I could have done any good if I'd paid attention. But I'm getting away from the point." She was tapping her fingers against the table the way she'd done when asking about the Heir. It was odd seeing Apple with a nervous tic.

"It's not like I would have listened to you while I still believed Tom," Ginny pointed out. "Even after I knew, I probably would've shoved you away. I was awfully annoyed at you, too."

Apple drummed her fingers, waiting.

Toad guts. She really was going to have to go through with this. Ginny pinched a strand of hair between her finger and thumb, twisting it around and around. "I need to talk to Daphne."

"To what end?"

Ginny pulled harder on her hair. "To... not to apologize -- and I'm _never_ going to grovel! -- but I can't keep pretending our fight is all her fault. I want to call a full truce. Can you get her to agree?"

"You'll need to argue that one through yourself, and don't expect me to help," Apple said. "But I should be able to set up a meeting in a neutral place. Do you want witnesses?"

"You, of course," Ginny said. "We both trust you. Nobody else, though -- I don't need more people watching me humiliate myself."

"And if Daphne wants you humiliated?"

Ginny scowled. "Then she can--" She paused, took a deep breath, and untangled her fingers from her hair before she yanked it from her scalp. "Then you can remind her she'll be humiliating herself just as much, and tell her to bring her friend Ruth if she's so much of a toad-licking weasel she can't trust me to hold to a truce she wouldn't honor herself."

Apple raised one eyebrow, a faint grin hovering over her face. "In those exact words?"

"Erm. No?"

"Fair enough," said Apple, gathering her Potions notes into a loose sheaf and tapping them against the table to align the edges. "I'll ask her tonight, but she'll need to shout and stomp around for a day or three before she can think about it seriously."

"That's all right," said Ginny. "Go on -- I still have to finish my Herbology essay for tomorrow. I didn't exactly have time to do it over the weekend."

Apple nodded and vanished among the bookshelves, leaving Ginny alone in the heavy, dust-filled silence of the library.

\---------------------------------------------

Dinner was less awkward than breakfast, mostly because Ginny elbowed Fred and George apart and sat between them, beckoning Colin and Apple to claim the other side of the table. "We're not talking about the Chamber, the basilisk, or any of that stuff," she informed her brothers. "Mum wants you to look after me. So distract us, and don't let anyone get too close."

The twins exchanged a long-suffering glance, but they spent the next hour explaining how they were adapting some sixth-year Potions (apparently they'd stolen Percy's notes) for nefarious purposes, and possibly also for profit. Now and then Apple asked for clarification of minor technical details. Ginny wondered if she was gathering ideas for Daphne, and what the twins would do if they found a Slytherin imitating their tricks. Colin listened in rapt silence, and Ginny dared to hope he might have found a new focus for his hero worship. Probably not, though.

Eventually Apple hauled Colin off to the library for more tutoring, leaving Ginny alone with her brothers. Ginny didn't protest when they insisted on escorting her back to Gryffindor tower. She didn't need protection, but right then, company was nice.

She had nearly relaxed when Fred slung her over his shoulder and held her legs still while George pulled off her shoes and tickled her feet.

"Beasts!" Ginny panted through her helpless laughter. "Toad-lickers! Gits! Put me down!"

"Fair payment, sister dearest!" Fred sang.

"We entertained you; it's only fair you entertain us," added George. "What do you say, Fred, has she balanced the debt?"

"Close enough." Fred dropped Ginny to her feet and held her arms for a moment while she steadied herself. "Pax?"

Ginny raked disheveled hair out of her face and glanced around the stairwell, hoping nobody had seen them. Well, even if someone had walked past, there wasn't much she could do about it now. "Oh, fine. Where are my shoes?" The slate tiles of the landing were cold under her bare feet, worn smooth and slick by decades of footsteps.

"Ah," said George, balling up her socks in his left hand. "They might have fallen over the banister?"

Hands on her hips, Ginny glared at her brothers. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Let you fetch them?" offered Fred, and ducked under Ginny's punch. "Only joking! I'll go." He dashed back down the stairs, leaving George and Ginny alone. George pulled a wry face and slouched against the wall of the landing.

"I know you don't want to talk about Riddle," he said after a moment, "but if you ever want to -- or need to -- Fred and I will listen. We won't even joke about it." Ginny snorted, and George's mouth tilted up into a smile. " _Much_ ," he qualified.

"I might take you up on that, someday," said Ginny, not really meaning it. She loved her brothers, but the twins were not her idea of good confidants... except about pranks, of course. But she didn't want to argue.

She sat down on the stairs, leaning against the granite balusters. "Hand over my socks. My feet are freezing."

"I don't see how -- it's been hot as blazes all day," grumbled George, but he tossed the wadded socks neatly into Ginny's lap. She pulled them on, grateful for the warmth of the frequently darned wool. It might be warm outside, but in the heart of the castle, the stones still clung to the memory of winter.

"You're _sure_ you're fine?" asked George, after a moment.

Ginny pressed her cheek to the polished stone of the balusters. "I will be. He's dead -- I won't let him pull me down after him."

"That's the Weasley spirit!" said Fred, dashing up the last flight of stairs and catching himself on the banister. "No matter what happens, don't knuckle under. And always remember to keep smiling--"

"--it throws the bastards off something awful," finished George.

Fred tossed Ginny's shoes in her general direction. One thumped into her lap, while the other rolled back down the stairs to the landing. "Three Knuts for speedy delivery," said Fred, holding out his hand.

"Three Knuts for throwing them away," Ginny told him, untangling the laces and jamming her right foot into the shoe. "We're even."

"I didn't throw your shoes down the stairs," said Fred. "That was George. So he owes you and you owe me, which, if we cut out the middleman, means--" He turned to George, hand still outstretched.

George grabbed it and shook, vigorously. "I'm so pleased you've accepted our partnership, Mr. Weasley!" he said. "It's an honor to work with you!"

"I think you've misunderstood," Fred said solemnly. "There is no partnership without trust, and there is no trust when debts remain unpaid. Three Knuts, Mr. Weasley."

George looked scandalized. "I am shocked and appalled at your insinuations, Mr. Weasley! As if I would ever welsh on a debt. Ginny, tell Fred he's mistaken about me."

"No, Ginny, tell George he's being a weasel," said Fred.

Ginny collapsed sideways against the balusters, nearly crying with laughter. It wasn't even that funny, but... but the twins were still the twins, no matter what happened, just like Percy was Percy, Ron was Ron, and even Mum and Dad were the same as ever. Maybe she was still Ginny Weasley, not the puppet Tom had tried to make her into before he decided it was simpler to kill her.

The problem was that she didn't remember who Ginny Weasley was meant to be.

Somehow that struck her as even more ridiculous. She laughed harder, panting for breath. Her side burned.

"I didn't think it was _that_ funny," muttered Fred. "Ginny? Oi, Ginny! Are you all right?"

"You're not supposed to throw _us_ off," added George. He crouched down in front of her and tilted his head, looking at her up and sideways. "Hey there. Take a deep breath. Good. And another. Hold it. Good. And another. Good. Bend down for a moment, head between your knees. Another breath. Hold it. And another. Better now?"

"Yeah," said Ginny, from between her knees. "Thanks. Sorry. I just--"

"That's what laughter's _for_ ," said Fred, "pulling out the cork when you've bottled too much up inside. Best not to let it build up so tight--"

"--it can get crazy when you let too much out at once--" said George.

"--but if anyone's entitled to go a bit mad, you are," finished Fred. He ruffled Ginny's hair, then gently pulled her upright. "See? There you are. Now how about a smile for your favorite brothers?"

"You're still behind Ron," Ginny said, but she felt the corners of her mouth tug upward in a smile -- a bit watery, she was sure, but genuine.

"We're still running second to ickle Ronniekins?" asked George, pulling a horrible face. "Merlin's beard! What do we have to do to win? Make you into a princess?"

"No!" said Ginny. "Princesses are useless. All they do is sit around waiting for a prince to save them. I'd rather save myself."

"So what use are we?" asked Fred. "Can't we help sometimes? Even princes get help from talking animals and fairy godmothers, right? I think George would make a lovely fairy godmother."

"Hey!" said George. "I'm her fairy god _brother_ \-- get your terminology straight. You can be her not-so-evil stepmum, or maybe a talking squirrel."

Fred made a horrible face, and Ginny snickered. The twins had a point -- trying to do everything on her own was what had kept her from stopping Tom months ago. "Okay. You can help me save myself," she said. "But I get to help you, too."

"Deal," said George. He held out his right hand, palm up. Fred placed his hand on top of George's, and they looked at Ginny. She covered their hands with her own, palm down.

"Deal," she said, and squeezed her brothers' hands. "Now can we get back to the common room before Percy sends out search parties for me?"

"Your wish is our command, Princess Ginevra," said Fred, sweeping a mocking bow.

Ginny chased him and George all the way to Gryffindor tower.

\---------------------------------------------

The next morning, Ginny slunk into Greenhouse One behind the other Gryffindors. She didn't want to face Professor Sprout or Xanthe. They _must_ have figured out that she'd used them to get access to the Restricted Section under false pretenses.

But Professor Sprout didn't look angry. Instead, she offered a sympathetic smile before she began lecturing on the life cycle of moss, multicolored diagrams blooming on the blackboard as she talked. Ginny stared straight ahead, letting the lecture wash over her. She already knew this. Colin scribbled furiously beside her, muttering under his breath.

At quarter to nine, Professor Sprout clapped her hands and announced a fifteen minute break. "Colin, please come to my desk," she added. "I need to discuss remedial work with you." Colin shuffled forward, leaving Ginny alone at the end of her table. She fiddled with her quill and glanced sidelong at Apple, wondering if she ought to try making conversation. But Apple grabbed her notes and bag and followed Colin to Professor Sprout's desk.

Ginny rested her forehead on the rough planks of the table for a moment. Then she jerked her head up and looked wildly around. Apple wasn't the only person who might be willing to talk to her. And Ginny really, really didn't want to explain things to Xanthe, not yet. She was sick of trying to talk about Tom -- it was so hard to explain which parts weren't her fault and which parts were.

Maybe she could sneak out of the greenhouse until break was over. Ginny grabbed her bag and swung her legs over the bench, ready to run for the door.

Xanthe's hand dropped onto her shoulder.

"Hi!" said Xanthe, falsely bright. "You know, while I'm glad you trusted me enough to say _anything_ about dangerous magic, I'm hurt that you didn't let me help. What made you think you could face the Heir alone?"

Ginny slumped forward, hiding behind the tangled curtain of her hair. "I cast the spell. I let him in. The only way to get him back out of my head was to kill him," she said, suddenly as tired as she'd been under Tom's influence. "We're first years -- what could you have done?"

"I could have told Professor Sprout or Professor Dumbledore, like you would've done if you'd been _thinking_." Xanthe sat gracelessly next to Ginny. "Love of light, you almost died! You keep saying you're a useless friend, but don't you know what that would've done to me? I like you, even when you're being stupid. And who would listen to me go on and on if you weren't here? Who'd explain about sporo-thingies and archegony-whatsits if you died?"

"The archegonium is the female part of the moss; the antheridium is the male part," said Ginny, talking into the table in a flat voice. "They get together and make a very confused baby moss plant called a sporophyte, which usually looks dead peculiar. After a while the sporophyte pops open and makes baby male and female moss plants called gametophores, which look like proper moss and have new archegonia and antheridia. Then it goes round again. This is important because sporophytes and gametophores have different effects in potions."

"You're avoiding the subject," said Xanthe. "You know, it won't kill you to look at me and say, 'Xanthe, I'm sorry I was a blithering idiot and didn't ask you for help. I promise I won't do it again.'"

"I was stupid to try doing everything by myself, but I'm not sorry I kept you out of it," said Ginny, lifting her head and frowning at Xanthe. "Riddle could have killed people anytime; he just held off because he thought it was funny to watch us run around like headless chickens." Oh, toad guts, the dead chickens. He'd made her kill chickens with her _bare hands_. But she could think about that later. "Riddle nearly did kill me. If you'd tried to stop him, I bet he would've killed you, and what do you think that would've done to all _your_ friends?"

Xanthe waved ink-stained fingers through the air. "You didn't ask, so we'll never know. But I bet he wouldn't have touched me, because I would've made you go to the professors right away. That's what they're here for, you know -- watching after us."

"Oh, perfect. More parents," Ginny grumbled. "And there I was, thinking they were here to teach us."

"That too," said Xanthe, serenely. "They're allowed to do two things at a time... but not three things; that's against the Educational Statute of 1857."

Ginny looked at her crosswise. Xanthe held her expression for several seconds before she collapsed into laughter. "Oh, your face!" she said. "I'm still annoyed at you, but I'm not _too_ angry, not since you're all right. You were scared, and nobody thinks straight when they're terrified. I know I wasn't thinking straight before the Sorting."

Suddenly furious, Ginny held out her hands like the trays of a scale, evenly weighted. "Get Sorted into a house you don't like, or get betrayed by a friend, locked into your own mind, nearly turned into a murderer, and then almost killed yourself." She dropped her left hand and raised the right until the imaginary scale was nearly vertical from the mismatch. "Yes, I can see how you might get those confused."

Xanthe folded her hands on the table and frowned. "Stop trying to make me yell at you. I told you, you're my friend. If I didn't run away when you were shutting me out all year -- and being awfully obvious about it, too -- what makes you think I'm going to run now?"

Ginny dropped her hands to the table, feeling wrong-footed. Why didn't conversations make sense anymore? Why wouldn't anyone blame her for the right things? "You did help," she confessed. "I tried to keep everyone out, but you pushed in anyhow. I'd probably be dead if you hadn't."

Xanthe looked baffled. "Did getting into the Restricted Section matter that much?"

"It kept Riddle out of my mind until I slipped and got stupid. But that wasn't what I meant." Ginny moved her quill until it lay centered on her notes, roughly bisecting the parchment. "Do you remember telling me about your Aunt Rose?"

Xanthe nodded.

"Riddle was the halfblood Slytherin boy who tried to use her. Sometime after she escaped, he opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed Moaning Myrtle. Then he put a memory of himself into a diary." Ginny straightened her parchment so it lay exactly parallel to the table's edge. "The memory wanted to get out. He needed to steal somebody's life to do that, and he chose mine. That's why I was always tired. If you hadn't told me about Rose, I wouldn't have realized anything was wrong until I was dead."

"You're welcome, of course," said Xanthe, "but... maybe I'm missing something. How did you know the story was about Riddle? He didn't tell you about Rose, did he? You're not stupid enough to let someone like that into your head."

"I did let him into my head," said Ginny. "Obviously I'm stupid enough. But no, he didn't tell the story the same way." She picked up her quill and twirled it around and around in her fingers, slowly plucking out the lower barbs and dropping them to the floor. "He said that in their fifth year, he fell in love with a girl named Rosalind Winterbourne and he thought she liked him back. But then -- this is what he told me -- then he found out she'd only been using him to make a sixth-year Ravenclaw jealous. Once she'd caught the other boy's eye, she told Tom he was dirty and no use to her, and he was crushed. That's what he told me. He said that he'd put himself into the diary to sort out his feelings about Rose, and to be a friend to other lonely people."

Ginny pulled out another barb and ground it into the table. "I believed him. I wanted to help him escape the diary and get his life back. He didn't need to kill me; I would've given him pieces my life anyway, because he was my best friend. It would've taken longer, but I bet he would've been out by next autumn."

She dropped her quill to the table and jammed her thumb on the shaft, smashing it irreparably. "He didn't care. He was my best friend, and he was lying to me all the time. He didn't even hate me -- that's the worst part. He didn't care enough to hate me. I was just a tool, just something to use. The way he said Rose used him."

Ginny flattened another section of the quill shaft. "I still miss him. I _hate_ that -- I hate _him_ \-- but I want him back anyhow. He was my best friend for five months, and then I spent four more months obsessing about him, and I can't let him go. I want to let him go, and it's not working, and I can't take it anymore!"

Silence.

Ginny looked up into Xanthe's shocked face and flinched. "Erm."

"Oh," said Xanthe.

"Can we pretend I didn't say that?" Ginny said hurriedly. "I'm getting better, and anyhow--"

" _No_ ," said Xanthe, grabbing the quill out of Ginny's hands. "I won't let you pull in on yourself and decide everything was your fault. Love of light, Ginny, stop acting like you're the only person who made mistakes!"

"But--"

"But nothing. You were stupid. You screwed up. So did I, so did your brothers, so did the professors -- somebody should have noticed something, you know. For that matter, how did you get the diary? Why don't you blame the person who sold it to you?"

"Because--" Ginny began, and stopped. How had Tom's diary ended up stuffed inside her Transfiguration book? Flourish and Blotts usually kept a careful eye their stock, to prevent theft, and the diary wasn't the kind of Sickle-a-dozen toy you might give away for free and never notice. So the diary must have come from somewhere else. Who had brought it into the store? And why give it to her?

But that wasn't the point. "Maybe there's another person at fault," she said. "So what? No matter how I got the diary, I'm the one who wrote in it. Nothing you say will change that."

"I'm not trying to change that!" snapped Xanthe. "I just-- oh, bother, Professor Sprout's gone back to the blackboard. Don't you dare run away after class. We need to finish this conversation."

"No, we don't," muttered Ginny, but she shifted over to let Xanthe lay out her own parchment, and pulled another quill from her bag.

Xanthe cared. That was nice. But why did everyone keep pushing at her?

Professor Sprout called the class back to order, and Ginny tried to lose herself in sketching diagrams of moss.

\---------------------------------------------

As soon as the lesson finished, Ginny turned to Colin and asked how lost he felt.

"Very," he said. "But Professor Sprout said I could owl her during the summer if I didn't understand anything in the textbook, and she's letting me take a few houseplants home to see if I can keep them alive. I'll be okay."

That wasn't the answer Ginny had been hoping for, and from the sharp finger prodding her shoulder, Xanthe knew exactly what she'd been trying to do.

"You are not getting out of talking to me that easily," said Xanthe. "I can skip my next lesson if I need to."

Oh, toad guts to everyone! "Watch me," said Ginny, and marched up to Professor Sprout's desk.

The professor raised her eyebrows and set down her wand; off to the side, the eraser continued to wipe colored chalk from the blackboard. "Is anything wrong, Ginny? That is to say, is anything _more_ wrong? Not that I think you can't cope with trouble, but I am sorry for not noticing how badly I was failing you, and..." Professor Sprout trailed off and laughed at herself. "That was a bit of a muddle. Let me try again. I'm sorry, Ginny. As your teacher and mentor, I failed you. How are you doing, and is there any way I can help you?"

Ginny glanced over her shoulder. Caroline and Anne had come up to collect Xanthe, who scowled and mouthed something that might have been 'later.' Then she let her other friends drag her out of the greenhouse.

"Actually I wanted to apologize to you," Ginny said, turning back to Professor Sprout. "When I asked you for that pass to the Restricted Section, I did look up hybridization, but I was really trying to learn Occlumency. I lied to you, and I'm sorry."

Professor Sprout picked up a pot of sphagnum moss and turned it back and forth between her hands, looking pensive. "Well. Thank you for your honesty. By the rules, I have to deduct points for lying to a professor -- shall we make it five? -- but it seems unfair to penalize you for trying to survive. So I award you five points for creative thinking and advanced study." She set the pot down and prodded the moss with her finger, pushing the tiny branch clusters this way and that. "Am I such a troll that you felt you couldn't confide in me? I do try to be accessible..."

"Oh, no!" Ginny said hastily. "It's nothing to do with you. I didn't tell anyone. I thought--" She paused. What _had_ she been thinking? Like Hermione said, Harry didn't do everything alone. Why had she thought she couldn't ask for help fighting Tom?

"I don't know what I thought," she said, more slowly. "It made sense at the time, but now I can't figure out why I didn't tell anyone. I was awfully stupid, wasn't I?"

Professor Sprout frowned. "I wouldn't say that. Young, certainly. Overwhelmed. Very few people think clearly under stress, and I daresay even trained Aurors might not have reacted sensibly if their minds were infiltrated by a Legilimens -- I presume that was why you wanted to learn Occlumency?"

Ginny nodded.

"There you are, then," said Professor Sprout. "You were in a tight spot and chose options that let you survive, even if they weren't the best options. You had friends and family who helped you when you couldn't manage on your own anymore. And that's an end to that." She touched the moss again, just brushing the tip of a green cluster. "However, events have consequences. If you need or want some time and space to sort out your thoughts and feelings, Hagrid and I could always use another hand with the gardens until the end of term."

"You're starting evening Herbology again?" asked Ginny.

"That too," said Professor Sprout, "and of course you're welcome to come. But I thought you might want time alone, and I've always found it's better to do something useful with my free time than to sit in a corner chasing my thoughts in circles." She smiled. "The grounds are a bit extensive for only two people to look after. I can't help you retroactively, but I can at least provide something to take your mind off your troubles."

"Oh. Er, thanks?" Ginny shifted her bag from hand to hand, wondering what else to say. What could she say when everyone seemed determined to take pieces of responsibility away from her?

"You're welcome," said Professor Sprout. She glanced at the clock hanging over the blackboard and frowned. "It's nearly time for my next lesson. Why don't I write you a note and you can go see Hagrid this afternoon? I'm sure he'll have some chores to work on."

"Okay," said Ginny. She poked at the potted moss while Professor Sprout scribbled a note. Then she shoved the parchment into her bag and fled.

\---------------------------------------------

Ginny skipped Charms. She was technically excused from lessons until Wednesday, and while Flitwick was nice, she didn't care about his opinion the way she cared about Professor Sprout's.

Instead, she skulked in the library until she was sure the other first years had reached the Charms corridor. Then she slipped downstairs to the Great Hall, picked at an early lunch, and fled back outdoors. The weather was beautifully sunny and warm, hardly a cloud in the sky, but Ginny refused to be tempted into a better mood.

She worked her way around the grounds, dipping down to kick stones into the lake, then circling around to pace the painted edge of the Quidditch pitch. She didn't want to talk to Hagrid. He'd spent three weeks in Azkaban because she'd been too wishy-washy to get rid of Tom, and too stupid to close the link after she'd opened the diary. Hagrid probably wouldn't blame her, but still.

And she didn't need things to keep her mind off of Tom. She could do that just fine on her own. All she needed to do was think about Daphne, and wonder whether Apple would be able to arrange a meeting, and whether Daphne would be willing to listen and stop trying to carry on a one-sided fight.

Ginny kicked at the grass of the pitch. She didn't want to apologize to Daphne any more than she wanted to talk to Hagrid. But if she was planning to do one, she probably ought to do the other. Hagrid did deserve an apology.

And maybe Professor Sprout was right and pulling weeds would feel better than walking in circles.

At half past noon, Ginny raked her fingers through her hair, straightened her robes, and knocked on the door of Hagrid's small, round cottage. Paws scrabbled on a bare wood floor as Fang rushed to the door and began to whine. Something shifted and thumped, and Hagrid's floor creaked as he came to answer Ginny's knock.

He opened the door and stared down at her, clearly surprised.

"I'm sorry!" Ginny said.

Behind his beard, Hagrid's face wrinkled in confusion. "Wha' for?"

Ginny blinked. "I got you sent to _Azkaban_ ," she said. "I didn't mean to, but I told Riddle you worked here and loved dangerous animals. So it's my fault that he knew how to make the Ministry blame you."

Hagrid's face cleared. "Oh. That. Tha's not yer fault. Riddle knew wha' I'm like from way back. The momen' he knew I was here, he knew how ter get rid o' me. Don' worry about it." He stepped back from the doorway, holding Fang back with one of his legs, and waved a massive hand toward his kitchen. "Come on in. Tea?"

Ginny trailed Hagrid into the cottage and fiddled with the straps on her bag while Hagrid put a kettle on the stove, dropped a handful of dried leaves into a chipped teapot, and produced two oversized mugs from a cupboard.

"I'm still sorry," she said eventually. "People keep saying it isn't my fault, but I'm allowed to be sorry. I'm sick of everyone telling me what to think and how to feel." That was what Tom had done.

Hagrid pulled out a chair opposite her and rested his huge arms on the table. "Are we really makin' yeh feel trapped? We don' mean ter, yeh know. We jus' want yeh ter know we don' blame yeh." His face darkened. "Most o' th' teachers knew Riddle from a long time ago, an' we all remember wha' he's like. He talks all smooth, spins yer head aroun' until yeh think it makes sense ter do wha' he tells yeh ter do. But he's bad, all rotten an' black inside, so wha' he wants ain't righ'."

Ginny traced invisible lines on the table, circling around a knothole. "Yeah. But I figured out he was the Heir, and I didn't tell anyone. So everything after that is my fault as well as his. I could've stopped him anytime, just by telling Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall."

The kettle whistled and Hagrid stood from the table. "Mebbe so," he said as he poured boiling water into the teapot, "but wha's done is done, an' everyone's all righ'. Don' worry 'bout it too hard." He set the teapot on the table and opened a breadbox, pulling out a plate of what might have been meant as chocolate biscuits. "Wan' one?" he asked, waving the plate in Ginny's direction.

Ginny took one of the rock-hard, treacly biscuits and nibbled at its edge while they waited for the tea to steep. Hagrid bit down on a biscuit of his own, chewing as if the texture felt perfectly normal to him. Maybe it did -- his teeth were probably as strong as the rest of him.

Steam wafted from the teapot's spout, tingeing Hagrid's kitchen with a delicate floral scent. It seemed incongruous in the rough wooden cottage with its oversized furniture.

Ginny wondered if he always drank jasmine tea, or if he kept special blends on hand in case of visitors. Come to that, did he have any visitors besides Ron, Harry, and Hermione? It seemed rude to just ask, and there was no telling if Ron and his friends knew; the boys were awfully dense sometimes, and Ginny didn't think Hermione was always very good at dealing with people. She nibbled thoughtfully at her biscuit. Charlie might know if Hagrid was lonely -- he'd talked about Hagrid a lot his sixth and seventh years, all about dragons and trips into the Forbidden Forest. Actually, he'd made Hagrid sound dead cool.

And she _was_ supposed to ask Hagrid about helping out around the grounds. She could visit him as part of that. So it didn't really matter if other people visited him; she could do the right thing regardless.

Hagrid picked up the teapot, startling Ginny from her thoughts. She cupped her hands around the mug he slid towards her and let the heat seep into her bones. "Professor Sprout said you needed--" she began, then trailed off. "Erm. Well, she said it helps to do things when you feel bad instead of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, and she said maybe I could help you and her take care of the grounds until the end of term? Would that be all right? Do you need help, or was she just being nice?"

Hagrid set his mug back on the table and beamed at Ginny. "O' course it's all righ'! We can always use an' extra hand or two. Professor Sprout does a lot wi' magic, but plants do better when yeh touch 'em -- they need th' attention or somethin'." He thumped one huge palm on the edge of the table, rattling the dishes and splashing tea over Ginny's fingers. "I tell yeh wha'. After we finish our tea, I'll set yeh to work in one o' the gardens. Would yeh like the veggies or the pretty stuff by th' main doors?"

Ginny wiped her fingers on a napkin and considered. If she said vegetables maybe she could pick up tips for Mum... but this wasn't meant to help Mum. This was for her. And she'd already got Hagrid's pumpkin spells last autumn. "Flowers," she said. "And thanks. I know you don't need to--"

"I wan' to," Hagrid said firmly. "Shush an' drink yer tea. No more bellyachin' allowed, not in my house. Yeh can tell it to th' flowers. They like bein' talked to, yeh know."

"Really?" said Ginny, leaning forward. "I told Mum the garden did better when I read books to the plants, but she said I was just imagining things. You mean I was right all along?"

Hagrid tipped back his head and laughed, a deep booming sound. "Yeah, yer righ'. Wha' did yeh read? Professor Sprout uses poetry. I jus' talk about th' weather an' stuff. I think it's voices they like, mostly -- like wi' animals, they know when yeh like them, when yer tryin' ter help." He smiled at Ginny. "I had a Venomous Tentacula a few years back--"

Ginny smiled back at Hagrid, suddenly convinced that he really wouldn't mind having her tag along while he worked. She wasn't sure why she'd thought he'd be put out. Maybe it was Tom's words lingering in her mind, making her expect the worst of anyone he'd looked down on. But while Hagrid was a little simple and had a funny idea of which animals made good pets, he was a good person. An honest person. That was worth more than all Tom's clever, lying words.

Hagrid's heart was big enough to forgive her when he barely knew her and she'd sent him to Azkaban. Tom hadn't even been willing to wait for her to let him out voluntarily, when he could just kill her and forget her instead.

Enough about Tom. He was dead. She was alive.

Ginny nibbled at her biscuit and laughed as Hagrid recounted his misadventures raising carnivorous plants. Being alive hurt, but she would take the guilt and pain and confusion. Because underneath the pain, she could still find humor and friendship and love. And if she wasn't alive, Tom won.

Ginny refused to let a _memory_ beat her.

\---------------------------------------------

Lockhart had been sent to St. Mungo's in hopes of curing his self-inflicted amnesia, which left no one to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts and not enough time to hire a substitute. "So who's going to teach us?" Ginny asked Apple over breakfast on Wednesday morning.

Apple swallowed a mouthful of salty porridge and said, "Nobody. Defense is canceled for the rest of term. We don't have to be anywhere this morning until Transfiguration. Hadn't you noticed we're the only two up?"

Ginny glanced around the Gryffindor table. Fourth years, seventh years, second years -- she carefully did not stare at Harry, Ron, and Hermione -- but no other first years. "I feel stupid."

"Stupidity and obliviousness aren't necessarily equivalent," said Apple. She paused, spoon halfway between her bowl and her mouth. "Incidentally, Daphne was calmer than I expected. Would you be willing to meet with her tonight?"

Ginny prodded at her toast with her fingernails, turning it around on her plate. "Sure. We'll be up for Astronomy anyhow. Do we still have early curfew?"

"Since the Heir is gone, it's back to normal," said Apple. "I'll tell Daphne to meet us in the trophy room at eight."

"Thanks," said Ginny, and ventured a bite of toast. The rest of breakfast passed in silence.

Ginny hid outdoors until Transfiguration, pulling dead leaves and branches off the bushes that lined the walk up to the main gates. This meant she had greenish-brown stains all over her robe and hands when she walked into Professor McGonagall's classroom, but she didn't care. Professor Sprout was right; useful work cleared her mind.

"Welcome back, Miss Weasley," said Professor McGonagall. "We're reviewing the interaction between topological and compositional changes today, but I have a different assignment for you. Sit next to Mr. Creevey and answer any questions he has over the material he missed. He has a list of tasks that would have been on your final exam, and which I will expect everyone to have mastered at the start of your second year."

Ginny dropped her bag onto the desk next to Colin and pulled out her wand. Colin poked nervously at the pile of wooden buttons on his desk. "I have to change them into brass thimbles and back again," he said. "I wasn't good at this to start with. I don't know how I'm ever going to catch up."

Ginny shrugged. "Don't look at me. I get by, but Transfiguration's never going to be my best subject. Just... hmm..." She reached across the aisle and prodded a button with her wand. "It's like baking, I think. Changing shape is easy and changing wood to metal is easy, but you have to do them together. Otherwise you're trying to layer one change on top of another, and that's lots harder than one complicated change. Sort of like you can't bake flour and eggs separately and mix them into cake afterwards -- they have to bake together." She flicked her wand.

"That would probably make more sense if I knew anything about cooking," Colin said, picking up Ginny's newly transfigured thimble and sliding it onto his thumb. "Maybe it's like photography? You can't think about the light and the composition and the shutter speed and the film and stuff separately, not if you're taking action shots. You only have a couple seconds so you have to do everything at once."

Ginny shrugged again. "If you say so." She changed the thimble back to a button and gave it four holes instead of two, just to show off. "Now you try."

By the end of the period, Colin had successfully changed buttons to thimbles and was starting to get the hang of adding variations to the reversal. Professor McGonagall gave him and Ginny a mildly approving nod. "Good work, Mr. Creevey, but don't grow attached to flourishes. Focus on basics until you've reached the end of your list."

Ginny offered Colin a sheepish smile as they gathered their bags. "Oops?"

Colin laughed. "Don't worry, I like flourishes! Hey, Apple and I are going to practice charms in one of the fourth floor spare rooms -- d'you want to come along?"

Ginny hesitated. She didn't want to face Apple before their meeting with Daphne tonight, and she'd had her fill of tutoring, but she'd spent all year pulling away from people because Tom wanted her to. If she kept on hiding, she'd be letting him win.

But doing things just to spite Tom would be equally stupid. She wanted to stop thinking about him every toad-licking hour.

"Not today," she said to Colin. "It's too nice out to stay inside all afternoon. I'm going down to the lake."

"Lucky you," said Colin, and waved as they parted ways.

Ginny hurried through the castle and down to the lake, trying to avoid people without looking like she was avoiding them. She summoned a halfhearted smile onto her face, hoping the twins were right and it would stop people from staring at her. As she neared the water, the smile grew closer to real -- it really was a beautiful day, and the gray water of the lake seemed almost blue in places, reflecting the cloudless sky. People sat near the shore in groups and pairs, talking or studying or playing games.

Ginny picked her way between two clumps of sixth years and headed for Xanthe's willow, idly kicking stones along the gravel path as she walked. She was looking down at her feet, trying to maneuver a particularly round, rust-brown stone over a protruding root, when a voice called her name.

"Oi, Ginny!" Ron said again, waving his arms to catch her attention. He was sitting on the grassy strip between the path and the narrow beach, with Hermione to his left and Harry lying flat on his back just upslope from them. "Come talk to us."

Ginny wavered for a moment while Hermione added a smile and a wave to Ron's invitation. Then Harry rolled over, propped his chin on his folded arms, and offered a rueful shrug. Ginny sighed. She wanted to act normal -- she had to start somewhere, right?

"What were you talking about?" she asked as she sat between Ron and Harry.

Ron flicked a blade of grass with his finger and thumb. "Not much, just stuff. Did you know Hermione's going to France this summer?"

"Oh? Where? North, south, Paris...?" Ginny wrapped her arms around her knees and looked curiously at Hermione. France wasn't much as foreign travel went, but Ginny hadn't even been out of England until she'd come to Hogwarts, which was sad when she had brothers in Egypt and Romania.

Hermione bit her lip as if she were worried or upset, which was odd -- or maybe not, on second thought. After all, Hermione had lost months of her life to Tom and the Basilisk, and then she'd found out all the madness Harry and Ron had got up to while she wasn't around to keep an eye on them. That combination might shake anyone.

"Normandy to start with," said Hermione, "mostly the war sites. Then Nancy and Strasbourg for two weeks, and we'll probably spend a weekend in Paris on our way home."

"Have you been before?" Harry asked, unfolding one arm and shoving his glasses up his nose. "The Dursleys were planning to go to Majorca a few years ago, but Dudley caught chicken pox and it all fell through."

"Tough luck," said Ron.

Harry laughed. "I missed out on two weeks of staying with the mad cat lady across the street." He raised his eyebrows at the others' questioning looks. "Of course they weren't going to take me. But it would've been nice to have some time to myself and I don't see what's so special about travel anyway."

"Well, I've never been to France," said Hermione with a determined tone, "but I'm sure it will be educational. What about you, Ron? Have you ever left Britain?"

Ginny and Ron shared a sidelong glance. "No," Ginny answered for them both. "But Charlie's been making noises about having us visit, so maybe in a few years we'll go to Romania and see the dragon reserve."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Didn't one of your classmates go there this summer? I'm sure I heard someone talking about that in the common room ages ago."

"That was Apple Rumluck -- she went with her cousin, Daphne," said Ginny. "Can we not talk about them?" She had to face Daphne soon enough, and she needed to stay calm so Daphne couldn't twist her around. The last thing she needed to do was get worked up over the beginning of their fight.

"Why?" asked Ron, as a frown crept over his face. "Are they giving you a hard time over... er, over _stuff?_ "

Not this again. "You can't blame every problem in my life on To-- on Riddle," Ginny snapped. "Daphne's a toad-licking cow, and she'd still be a toad-licking cow no matter what happened to me this year. Which I am _trying_ to get over, all right? I was having a good day until you brought it up again. Can't you let me get on with my life?"

"Yeah, Ron, let it go," agreed Harry. "It's too nice a day to think about that mess."

"Exactly," said Ginny. She ventured a smile at Harry. The expression was starting to feel less foreign on her face, less false, even if she didn't always mean it whole-heartedly. That was a good sign, right?

"Hermione's going to France and I'm going to put up with the Dursleys," Harry said, rolling back over to face the sky. "What are you and Ron doing for the summer, Ginny?"

"Gardening," Ginny said, at the same moment that Ron said, "De-gnoming the garden."

They looked at each other and laughed. "It's a big garden," Ginny continued. "There are lots of other chores -- feeding the chickens, tending the compost, stuff like that. And we'll go visit Uncle Edward and Aunt Bernice for a week or two, since we didn't see them at Christmas. Probably Aunt Charlotte too." She shrugged.

Ron picked up the thread. "When Mum lets us, or when we can sneak out, we'll swim in the river or play pick-up Quidditch with Cedric Diggory who lives on the other side of the village. There's always stuff to do -- card games, chess, hide and seek with Horace the ghoul. You know, having fun."

Ginny caught Hermione's disapproving expression and added, "And schoolwork, of course, but there's no need to kill ourselves over it. What's the point of summer if you stay inside swotting all day?"

"Exactly," said Ron. He leaned over and tucked a stray hank of Ginny's hair behind her ears. "You're really happy, Ginny?"

She tipped backwards until she was lying flat on the grass, her whole body open to the warmth and light of the sun, and laughed -- it was that or scream. "Yeah, sure. Now shut up and let me enjoy the afternoon."

Ron might have pushed further, but fortunately Hermione distracted him by asking what he meant by playing hide and seek with a ghoul -- did the Weasleys really treat a ghoul like a pet, and wasn't there something vaguely wrong about keeping a semi-sentient creature shut up in their attic? Ginny closed her eyes and drifted into an uneasy doze, one arm flung over her head to shield her face from the sun.

A few hours later somebody shook her shoulder, jolting her back to full awareness. She blinked up at Harry's amused face. "Hi," he said. "It's nearly time for dinner."

"Thanks," Ginny mumbled, scrubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes to clear out the sticky residue of sleep. "Sorry I wasn't good company." Dinner sounded awful; she was too nervous to eat. She should go wash up instead, to make sure she was awake enough to deal with Daphne. Would Ron notice if she snuck off?

Harry's wry grin widened, and he held out his hand. "Don't worry about it," he said as he pulled Ginny upright. "I'm just glad you're happy again. I guess I'll see you around sometimes now that you're back to yourself?"

Ginny stared blankly at him. Harry didn't really believe she was fine just because she said she was, did he? He'd been in the Chamber. He'd seen Tom -- he'd _talked_ to Tom -- he should know how Tom could twist everything upside-down and backwards and make horrible things seem true and right. He should know how strong the spells on the diary had been.

But... she was getting better. She _was_. And if she told Harry she wasn't all right, he'd tell Ron who'd tell the rest of the family, and then she'd be right back to being smothered. She couldn't take that again. She'd go mad.

"Yes," she said to Harry, "I guess you will see me around more. I have to keep an eye on Ron -- Mum's always telling me not to let him do anything stupid. I think it's a lost cause, but at least he's not usually boring."

Harry laughed. "I'll tell him you said that. Come on, Ron and Hermione are nearly back to the castle." He tugged on Ginny's hand.

Ginny flushed and let go, quickly. "Okay. Erm. Race you?" She took off running before Harry had a chance to respond.

She wasn't fine, not yet, but if she lied about it hard enough, maybe this time the lie would come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where I took a three-year hiatus, whoops. *sheepish*
> 
> (This is also where I basically danced up and down shouting that Harry Potter is an unreliable narrator, goddammit, but hopefully that is clear within the text itself.)


	15. Open Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Fifteenth: In which Ginny continues her string of awkward apologies before returning home and starting to reclaim her life. There are no magic solutions, no shortcuts to recovery, but sometimes happiness sneaks up and ambushes you when you least think you deserve it.

Ginny fidgeted at the entrance to the trophy room, wondering when Daphne and Ruth would show up. "It's five past," she muttered to Apple, who was leaning calmly against the doorframe. "Doesn't she care?"

Apple shrugged. "Maybe yes, maybe no, but in any case, punctuality has never been Daphne's forte. Don't get angry until quarter past." Something caught her ear and she straightened, peering down the corridor toward the stairs. "Actually, never mind -- here they come."

Daphne strode down the corridor like a queen processing through a glittering palace, her chin up and eyes fierce. Ruth trailed after her like a mousy shadow, sour-faced.

"If you're not--" Daphne began.

Apple slid her hand over her cousin's mouth. "Daphne, shut up. The idea is to make a truce, not to set each other off again. If you can't both be civil, Ruth and I will go tell Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape that you two were throwing tantrums like toddlers and nearly upset a trophy case. Right, Ruth?"

Ruth blinked, then smiled. "Sure. That'd be fun."

Ginny looked over at Daphne and saw a matching frustration leaking out around Apple's hand. For one second they were in perfect agreement. "Fine," said Ginny. "Let go of Daphne and let us talk in peace -- you and Ruth can go around the corner and plot on your own time."

To her annoyance, Ruth laughed. Apple simply shrugged and held out her free hand. "As you will. Wands."

Ginny blinked. "Wands," Apple repeated. "Hand them over. Daphne, I know exactly how many jinxes you know, and considering your brothers, Ginny, I'd be willing to bet you're just as bad. I'd prefer not to bring the professors down on our heads."

Daphne shook Apple's hand off her mouth with a scowl and slapped her wand into her cousin's hand. As Ginny followed suit, Daphne shoved past her into the trophy room. "If this takes more than fifteen minutes or you hear the sound of unspeakable carnage, come play heroes," Daphne said. "Otherwise, much as I hate to agree with Weasley, go away."

Ginny slid into the trophy room. Daphne slammed the door behind them with a bang and a screech of rusty hinges. Ginny wondered for half a second if Apple and Ruth would be able to hear any unspeakable carnage through the stone walls and heavy oak. Then she decided she didn't care. Daphne didn't scare her.

Daphne folded her arms across her chest and fixed Ginny with a cold stare. "You wanted to talk. So talk."

Ginny took a deep breath and carefully unclenched her fists. She was going to do this. No matter what.

"I don't like you and you don't like me," she said, "but this stupid little war you're trying to fight is annoying everybody around us. I'm never going to grovel and I still don't think I was wrong about everything -- you _shouldn't_ have pulled that joke at the flying lesson -- but... I'm sorry I jumped down your throat our first day in Potions." She folded her arms, tucking her hands into the warm insides of her elbows. "I... well..."

"You were a prejudiced ninny?" suggested Daphne, still stone-faced.

"No!" snapped Ginny. Then she bit her lip. "Well, maybe. Probably. First you made Xanthe feel awful -- you kept talking Hufflepuff down -- couldn't you see she thought she'd end up there? And then you smiled at Draco Malfoy, and..." She shrugged, arms still pressed against herself. "He's a _Malfoy_. You know what our families are like. He was horrible to Ron and Harry and Hermione all last year, and it felt like--"

"Like you held out your hand and somebody spit in your face?" said Daphne. "How d'you think I felt when you went off at me in front of the whole bloody class? I'd been telling Ruth that house rivalries were dumb and we'd break the stupid Gryffindor-Slytherin feud since my cousin and my new friend were dead cool, and then you went and made me a liar. In front of Electra and Angelique and Heather, too!"

"So it was wrong. I said I was sorry, didn't I? Isn't that what you wanted?" said Ginny, straightening to point an accusing finger at Daphne. "I'm not the one who couldn't let it drop. I was fine just not talking to you. I never went around putting dungbombs in _your_ bag, or stealing private things out of _your_ bedroom. That was all you, and it's just as bad as anything I did to you -- or worse! I want an apology too!"

"Oh, like pretending nothing happened is so much better?" Daphne said acidly. "Besides, it's not like you're innocent. So what if you stopped talking to me after Christmas. You were still a bloody bitch until then! You dumped pumpkin juice on my head! You made me look like a ninny at the Dueling Club! You hexed me in Potions for months--"

"You hexed me first!" said Ginny.

"That was my foot, not a spell!"

"You still did it first!"

Daphne threw up her hands. "Because you dumped pumpkin juice on my head! You see? You're always the victim, never take responsibility for anything--"

"I do so!"

"No you don't! It's always 'look at poor little Ginny, so sad, so lonely.' Oh, _boo hoo_. I couldn't let you think you could act like that without consequences! That's probably how the Heir got started, I bet -- nobody ever stood up and called him out and he just got worse and worse until--"

Ginny punched her in the face.

Daphne reeled back into the doorframe, hands rising to her cheek. Then she growled and lunged forward, reaching for Ginny's throat and hair.

The next minute was a confused muddle of fingers and feet and indecipherable curses, which finally ended when Ginny tripped Daphne and scrambled to sit on her back, leaning forward to press the other girl's arms to the floor. "You-- shut-- up," she panted. "Don't you ever, _ever_ say that-- that I'm like _him!_ You didn't know him! You didn't have him in your head for months and months and nobody to talk to and nobody to help and no idea what to do. I was awful to you because I was stupid. He _killed people_. It's not the same! It's not anything like the same! And I tried to stop him, I did -- I swear I did--"

Ginny gulped, fighting back the stupid, burning tears that wanted to spill out and choke her. Daphne stirred. Ginny shoved down on her arms. "Shut up. Don't move." She swallowed again, and a third time, and let go of Daphne's left arm to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her school robe.

Daphne stayed still, waiting.

"I hate you," Ginny said after a moment. "I wanted to apologize, and you made everything worse. Why do you always p-push at me? Can't you just let it _go?_ I said I was s-sorry -- and I'm sorry about the pumpkin juice and the hexes t-too -- isn't that enough?"

She was stuttering again. Ginny clamped her teeth on all the words that wanted to escape, and waited for Daphne to answer.

Silence.

"Well? Say something!"

"You told me to shut up. I was trying to cooperate," said Daphne, her voice slightly muffled and distorted by having half her face pressed against the stone floor tiles.

Ginny scowled. "That's not cooperating. That's b-being a toad-licker."

"So? You hate me. I hate you right back. Why should I be nice?"

Ginny closed her eyes, bit her lip, and counted silently to ten. She still wanted to hit Daphne, so she counted back down to one and up to ten again. It didn't help. She couldn't think of anything to say that might change Daphne's mind. Just like she couldn't change Tom's.

Ginny bit her lip harder and ducked her head, trying to breathe.

Tom was gone. He was _gone_. She'd won. If she could survive Tom, Daphne was nothing. Daphne hated her -- so what? Daphne couldn't kill her. Daphne couldn't possess her. Daphne couldn't make her into a murderer.

All Daphne could do was make Ginny angry.

Ginny let go of Daphne's arms and slid off the other girl's back. "You should be nice because it's the right thing to do," she said, scrubbing her damp, prickly eyes with the back of her hand as she stepped away. "But if you don't want to, I don't care anymore. You can tell Apple whatever you want."

Daphne scrambled to her feet and glared warily across the dimly-lit room. "Oh yeah? What are _you_ going to tell her?"

Ginny straightened her back. "I'm going to tell everyone that I apologized to you. I'll tell them exactly what I apologized for, so you can't say I'm trying to weasel out of anything. Then I'll tell them that you wouldn't listen, but I'm done fighting with you. And if you try to keep this stupid fight going, I'll tell everybody -- including the professors -- about any little thing you do to me, no matter how embarrassing, and ask them not to worry because you're just being a pigheaded baby."

She couldn't change Daphne's mind, but nothing said she had to keep playing Daphne's game. That was the mistake she'd made with Tom -- she'd let him define the rules. Ginny was sick and tired of reacting the way other people wanted her to react. She was sick and tired of trying to do everything alone.

Asking for help was the hardest thing in the world. But she could do it. She would do it.

She'd apologized, which took away Daphne's justification for her vendetta. Without a rightful cause, all that was left was Daphne bullying the Heir's last victim. That would go over like-- like a Basilisk falling into the Great Hall in the middle of dinner.

Daphne blinked. Then the implications seemed to hit her all at once, and her eyes widened. "That's-- that's-- you little _sneak_. That would work on the Gryffindors. That would work on Apple. I think that might even work on Professor Snape -- he'd hate it, but he won't break the rules for me. Are you sure you're really a Gryffindor?" A sly smile blossomed on her round face. "You said you had the Heir in your head all year -- did he teach you anything?"

Ginny was not going to punch Daphne again. She was not. She wasn't. She really, really wasn't.

That didn't mean she had to be any nicer than Daphne.

Ginny let her breath out in a long, frustrated hiss. Then she returned Daphne's grin with the innocent smile she used when she wanted to make Ron nervous. "That's for me to know and you to worry about. I'm leaving now. Don't talk to me again unless you're willing to apologize for your half of the fight. But don't worry -- I won't ask you to grovel."

Ginny turned and opened the trophy room door.

"Well?" said Apple, sticking her head around the corner of the corridor.

"I apologized. Daphne didn't accept. I'm done fighting. If she tries anything else, I'm reporting her to the professors," said Ginny as she walked toward the stairwell. "You and Ruth can ask her about the rest."

Apple blinked. "That's unusually calm for you. Are you certain you're not suffering aftershocks from your experience in the Chamber?"

Was she suffering _what?_ Ginny stopped dead, then turned to Apple with what she was sure must look like absolute lunacy on her face as she fought back an urge to laugh. "What do you _think?_ Of course I'm not over that! Of course I'm not acting like I used to! That doesn't mean I can't change because I want to. I'm tired of being angry. So thanks for asking, but leave me alone."

Ginny stomped up the stairs, hands over her ears to block out anything Apple might try to say. She had an embarrassing explanation to make to the other first years and she wanted to plan it out as carefully as possible, to keep Susan and Danny from trying to take Daphne's side.

\---------------------------------------------

Time, which had dragged out like molasses since the Chamber, seemed to pick up speed after that night. Ginny wasn't sure why -- she still felt she was faking her way through life -- but she stopped herself every time she found herself writing questions about guilt and responsibility in the margins of her class notes.

"I'm not sure what I've learned," she said to Sir Vladislav two weeks later as she sat on his pedestal and stared glumly at Myrtle's bathroom. "Not to do everything alone, obviously. Not to jump to conclusions, I guess. Not to trust strange enchanted objects -- no offense," she added as Sir Vladislav shifted with a clank of metal. "But I feel like I ought to have something more to show for nearly dying."

_"Life is not fair,"_ Sir Vladislav wrote. _"We do not ern all that we get, or get all that we ern. But life is still sweet."_

"This year was awfully sour for me," said Ginny, kicking her heels against the marble pedestal. "But... I didn't want to die. Not really. Even when I thought it was the only way to stop Tom, even when I hated my life, I didn't want to die. Some things were good even in the middle of that mess, and they're better now. They'll keep getting better. Right?"

_"You will make your life beter,"_ Sir Vladislav agreed. _"You know you ar doing the rite thing now, which can give strength even in bad times."_

Ginny scowled down at her tatty shoes. "I don't know -- I thought I was doing the right thing by fighting Tom on my own, and that never made me feel good. How can I ever be sure I'm making the right choices? And I hate the way people keep _looking_ at me, like I was as bad as Tom or like I was a helpless princess waiting for Harry to save me."

Sir Vladislav held up one gauntlet, signaling that he needed time to write a long response. Ginny kicked her heels and waited, glaring at a pair of first year Ravenclaws -- Luna Lovegood and Yukiko Izushima -- who passed by and shot her sympathetic glances over their stacks of books. She didn't want sympathy today.

Sir Vladislav tapped her shoulder and handed her a sheet of parchment.

_"My parents lived in the North Crusade,"_ he'd written, _" ~~als die Deutsch~~ wenn the German nites went to conker the Poles and Balts and make them to become Christian. The Germans looked down at the Poles and the Poles hated the Germans. But my father and mother still fell in lov."_

"That can't have been easy," said Ginny, looking up. Sir Vladislav nodded, then gestured for her to keep reading.

_"My mother was a Polish witch and would not to become Christian. My father was a German Muggle, and had the toun of Pitula by conkuest to tax and to make Christian und German. They spoke different speeches, praed to different gods, serfed different lords. They married any way. This made grate confusion for other peeple, but my parents wished to make their peeple lern to see each other as peeple, and to be frends. In Pitula, they made the people to be at peace._

_"They did a rite thing, and they did it together."_

"I am trying not to fight with anyone anymore," said Ginny, folding the parchment in half and running her fingers along the crease. "But I don't see how that has anything to do with me and Tom. You can't make peace with someone who only wants to kill you."

Sir Vladislav took the parchment back and scribbled on the unmarked side. _"That is tru. But you can make peace with the girls and boys in your classes. You stopped to fite with Dafnie. Wy not try to become frends with her and the others?"_

"I won't try making friends with Daphne Rumluck!" Ginny shouted, and then hunched in on herself, looking around to make sure nobody had been nearby to overhear. "I won't," she repeated more quietly. "I don't like her, she doesn't like me, and what's the point of it anyhow? I don't need to be friends with everyone, especially not Slytherins."

Sir Vladislav's empty visor stared at her reproachfully as he wrote, _"Becaus she is Slytherin you shoud try more. I hav seen how wars begin. They start wenn peeple stop to see each other as peeple and see onlie enemies or tools. That is how Tom saw the world. But if Dafnie is too hard, wy not start with other Griffindors?"_

With Susan, Danny, and Jasper? Ugh. She was still mad at the boys for deciding Harry was the Heir, and as for Susan... well. But Eugene was all right, Ginny supposed -- he was quieter than the other three, and not as prone to snap judgments. Gwen and Jia-li weren't bad either, but Ginny wasn't interested in spending all her time talking Quidditch or giggling about boys. It was bad enough that people knew she liked Harry. She didn't have to go around _advertising_ her crush.

"Maybe later," Ginny said to Sir Vladislav. "I guess I'm just not as brave as your parents." Or as crazy -- but that wasn't the sort of thing you said to a friend, so she kept it to herself.

_"You ar as brave as yourself, wich is all any one can ask,"_ Sir Vladislav wrote. He nudged Ginny's side with his gauntlet and added, _"The sun is brite. The day is warm. I am not your onlie frend. Go outside and away from memories of the Chaember."_

"You just want to practice new poses with your sword," Ginny said with a small grin. "Term ends tomorrow. I'll try to say goodbye before they take us to the station Saturday morning, but if I can't get here, have a good summer and I'll see you in September."

Sir Vladislav rested his gauntlet on Ginny's hair for a moment, then waved her off down the corridor.

Ginny stopped by the common room in case Colin needed help with his remedial work, but everyone seemed to be out for the afternoon. She probably ought to find somebody to practice being a friend, but she was tired of acting like everything was fine. So she headed to the greenhouses and spent the afternoon working on a list of minor jobs for Professor Sprout.

"You've been wonderful to have in class this year. Again, if there's anything I can do to help..." Professor Sprout said as she escorted Ginny back to the castle for dinner.

"You already are," Ginny assured her. Then she slowed, twisting a bit of hair around her finger. "Er, are there any projects I could do over the summer for extra credit?"

Professor Sprout looked pleased. "I don't have any ready-made projects aimed at a second-year level, but I can certainly plan a few. Tell me what you have at home by way of a garden and supplies, and I'll avoid anything that requires special equipment."

Describing Mum's garden carried them safely to the Great Hall, past the handful of people who still looked at Ginny with annoyance or pity. "Your home sounds lovely," said Professor Sprout, pushing the doors open. "I'll owl you with some ideas next week."

"Thanks," said Ginny, and hurried over to the Gryffindor table, where Colin waved her into an empty seat across from Apple. Ginny pulled up her most convincing smile and prepared to ask about their days.

\---------------------------------------------

Friday was the last day of classes, and even Professor McGonagall unbent enough to hand out shortbread biscuits to everyone and teach them how to disguise biscuit tins so they looked like miniature chests for delicate Potions ingredients. "Do not try to fool Professor Snape with this trick next year," she said as she finished the lesson. "He's been known to insist on students using smuggled snacks to make potions, and to assign detention or deduct house points for the resulting failures."

Ginny mumbled a promise of good behavior along with the other first years. Privately, though, she wondered what else could be done with boxes that looked like other boxes. Had the twins ever done much with transfigured labels?

The last lesson of term should have been History of Magic. By mutual agreement, everyone skipped it and headed outside after lunch.

The first year Hufflepuffs didn't have any lessons on Friday afternoons, so unless they'd decided to pack instead of enjoying the sunshine, Xanthe and her friends should be down by the lake. Ginny still felt awkward around them, but she'd managed to convince Xanthe that taking responsibility for what she'd done this year was different from saying everything Tom had done was also her fault. And it wasn't as if Caroline and Anne cared either way, as long as Ginny was willing to pitch in and complain about lessons, play tag (which inevitably degenerated into trying to dunk each other in the lake), share horror stories about the general idiocy of parents, teach Xanthe to turn cartwheels, or whatever else they felt like getting up to.

Sometimes that indifference made Ginny feel like screaming that horrible things had happened and why didn't anyone _care?_ More often, she was grateful for the lack of pressure, especially compared to the way her own housemates still weren't quite sure how to treat her.

She was about to slip off in search of the Hufflepuffs when Susan caught her arm.

"Ginny--" she started.

Ginny shook Susan's hand away, not wanting to spoil the afternoon with an argument. "I am trying to have a good day. I don't want to argue with you. I've been perfectly happy ignoring you -- why can't you keep ignoring me?"

Susan hissed between her teeth and looked around at the other first years, who had stopped to watch with open interest. "I-- look-- will you people go away and let me talk to Ginny in private?"

"You wouldn't let me apologize to Colin in private," Ginny pointed out.

Behind her, Colin sighed. "Ginny, you're being mean again. Stop it."

Ginny gritted her teeth. She'd been having a good morning -- she hadn't thought of Tom more than once -- and now Colin wanted her to make nice and smile at Susan? He was _such_ an annoying little toad-licker. But she was trying not to push people away.

"Follow me and we'll talk. If anyone tries to follow us, I'll tell my brothers you were bothering me." She stomped off across the grounds, heading around the castle to the deserted Quidditch pitch. Susan trailed after, equally annoyed.

When they reached the middle of the pitch, well away from any curious ears, Ginny flopped down onto the grass and stared up at the sky. It would probably be easier not to get mad if she didn't have to look at Susan. And the sky was gorgeous, blue and bright and big enough to swallow her alive. Ginny spread her arms and buried her hands in the grass, working her fingers down between the roots to touch the cool, springy earth.

"Well?" she said.

Susan edged into her field of vision and looked down, eyes narrow and jaw clenched. "You know, I don't even know why I wanted to talk to you anymore. You're not the Heir, it wasn't your fault, okay, fine, whatever. You're still a stuck-up, self-righteous cow, and you take every stupid little thing and make it into a giant stinking mess. Forget it."

"Fine," said Ginny. "You don't like me, I don't like you, let's never talk again. I'm glad we agree." She closed her eyes, hoping Susan would take the hint and leave. The grass tickled the back of her neck and she wiggled her toes as she inched sideways into a more comfortable position. Her shoes were getting a little tight. Mum would probably insist on buying new ones this summer.

"We do not agree!" said Susan. There was a rustle and thump; Ginny peeked through slitted eyes and watched as Susan settled herself cross-legged on the ground. "Look, we're housemates and classmates, right?" said Susan, plucking a blade of grass and tearing it methodically to shreds. "We're stuck with each other for the next six years. We need to learn how to get along. Your family's just as big as mine, so I know you know how that works."

"Yeah. I know," Ginny said reluctantly. She didn't always like her brothers, but they'd long since thrashed out ways to work around each other's most annoying quirks -- and avoidance was not a workable method, not like with Daphne. Gryffindors could get away from Slytherins. Getting away from each other was a different flock of owls altogether. Susan was right. She and Ginny didn't have to be friends, but they had to figure out how to get by. Drat, bother, and toad-guts.

"So look. I shouldn't have let Daphne muck around with your stupid poems. That was wrong. And I probably should've tried to listen about the Heir, even though I still say the evidence pointed right at Harry Potter."

Ginny shoved herself up on her elbows. "Riddle was framing--"

"Yes, but since nobody else knew about Riddle, what were we supposed to think?" Susan interrupted. "It was a good frame job. Of course it worked and of course I thought Harry Potter was the Heir. But that's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"Would you let me bloody _talk?_ " said Susan, waving her arms wildly, specks of shredded grass flying every which way. "The point is, I got pissed off at you because you overreacted to Daphne way back in September. I like Daphne, she's fun, all right? You were so glum and standoffish and all grumpyguts about everything -- it's _exhausting_ trying to talk to you -- and... and I've a temper too. I overreacted. It was stupid. And I hate backing down." She grimaced and plucked another blade of grass. "So, this is me backing down and saying I was wrong about some things."

"Only some things?"

"You were still wrong about Daphne, and you still make things a thousand times more dramatic than they need to be," said Susan. "All right, you really were caught up in a horror story, but how were the rest of us to know?"

"I'd think the Petrified bodies might be a clue," said Ginny, giving in and sitting up properly so she and Susan were on the same level.

"Argh!" Susan threw up her hands. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! No matter what people say, you go out of your way to take it badly. Not everyone is out to get you! I'm not out to get you! You were fun for a bit when we first met. You told jokes. I remember that. Did your stupid Heir steal your sense of humor along with trying to kill you?"

"You know what? I bet he did! I bet he stole it, and ate it, and it tasted like chicken!" snapped Ginny.

She stared at Susan, not quite believing those words had just come out of her own mouth. Susan stared back, equally surprised.

Then, helplessly, Susan started to giggle.

"Chicken!" she gasped through her laughter. "Jokes taste like chicken! What on-- who says-- are you _completely barking mad?_ "

"Maybe I am!"

Susan kept laughing, as if Ginny were the most ridiculous thing she'd seen in her life. As if she were so pathetic and stupid that--

No.

Wait.

As if Ginny had just said something ridiculous -- which she had. That didn't mean Susan was laughing _at_ her, or at least no more than Ginny laughed at Fred and George when they did something absurdly over the top. Not everyone was out to get her, right? And she was so tired of being angry.

"Maybe I am barking," she repeated, smiling almost despite herself. "But so's Dumbledore, so who cares?"

Susan grinned. "Who indeed! Look, we're not friends, but can we at least call pax and start over? I'd like to get to know you when you're not halfway possessed and I hope _I_ come off better when I'm not on my high horse."

She stuck out her hand.

After a moment, Ginny clasped it and shook. "Truce."

They stood awkwardly for a few seconds, neither wanting to be first to break away. Then Susan made a face and loosened her grip. "All right, this is getting stupid. I know you don't want me hanging around even if we're not angry at each other, so I'll go find the boys and you can get on with whatever you were planning. I'll see you at supper." She scrambled to her feet, dusted the grass from her hands, and strode off the Quidditch pitch, blonde hair shining in the early summer sun.

Ginny flung herself backward onto the grass again and stared up at the endless blue sky. At the edge of her vision, a cluster of puffy clouds was drifting lazily in from the west, like a flock of giant airborne sheep. Mum had wanted to get a sheep once, back when she'd started knitting. Ginny wondered why that hadn't worked out. It might be interesting to have a sheep, especially if they got a dog to look after it. But maybe a sheep would get into the garden and eat all the vegetables...

Lost in idle thought, Ginny closed her eyes and soaked up the sun until a passing cloud cloaked her in shadow. Then she rolled back to her feet and set off to find Xanthe.

\---------------------------------------------

Hogwarts on Saturday morning was like the Burrow on September first, writ a hundred times larger, louder, and more disorganized. Somehow nobody was quite finished packing, the prefects had lost the tags that would identify everybody's trunks after the house elves whisked them from the castle to the train platform, and breakfast was inexplicably half an hour late. Ginny, who was used to this sort of madness, pulled her things together faster than any of the other first year Gryffindors. She tried not to look smug as she sat in an armchair in the common room watching her housemates rush about like headless chickens. Judging by the annoyed looks Apple, Susan, and Colin kept shooting her, she wasn't hiding her amusement well.

Finally they all trooped down to the lake, piled into the same tiny boats that had carried them to Hogwarts last autumn, milled around the platform until they found their trunks, and settled down to wait for the Hogwarts Express. Ginny spotted Xanthe squashed between Anne and Caroline, and waved.

"Don't forget to write!" she shouted over the din of voices, the screeches of cats and owls, and the roar of the approaching train.

"I won't!" Xanthe shouted back. "See you in September! Oh! And I wanted to ask you--"

But whatever she was trying to say was lost under the whistle and the pounding of the Hogwarts Express as it pulled up to the platform. Ginny pointed at her ears and shook her head. After a moment, Xanthe shrugged and made a scribbling motion over the palm of her hand, as if writing a letter. Ginny nodded, and then Xanthe whirled and ran to catch up to her fellow Hufflepuffs as they boarded the train, her trunk levitating behind her.

Ginny looked for Apple and Colin, but they had vanished. Drat. She didn't want to get stuck in a compartment without any friends. Maybe she could find one of her brothers.

She levitated her trunk and stepped up into the train, glancing along the corridor toward the rear of the car. No sign of her housemates, nor her family. Double drat.

A compartment door slid open and Daphne Rumluck stuck her head into the corridor, looking away from Ginny. Triple drat and a bucketful of toad guts.

Ginny took half a step backward toward the door of the train car, then stopped. She wasn't going to fight with Daphne anymore. That didn't mean she was going to hide. If Daphne wanted to make a scene, that was her own problem.

Daphne turned toward Ginny with vague annoyance on her face. Then her gaze sharpened and she made a disgusted expression. "Oh, _you_ ," she said. A silver Persian cat peered out from around her shin and hissed, echoing its mistress.

Ginny shrugged.

Daphne sighed. "Right, right, there's no point if you won't fight back. Hey. Have you seen Apple? She promised she'd sit with me and Ruth on our way to London but I couldn't find her on the platform and it would be just my luck if she's found a compartment and thinks I ought to come to her instead of the other way around."

"She didn't plan that out beforehand?" asked Ginny.

Daphne bent down and scooped up her cat, which promptly scrambled its way onto her shoulder. "Oh, probably," she said airily, "but where's the fun in that? Apple needs someone to shake her up and drag her into things or she'd never have any life at all. None of you Gryffindors did a good job of that this year. You'd better shape up or my vengeance will be swift and terrible." She grinned.

It was a strangely non-threatening smile, Ginny thought. Almost friendly.

"Are you apologizing to me?" she asked.

"Of course not! But I'm not fighting with you any more either," said Daphne. "Apple's decided to be your friend -- which if you ask me really means she's decided you're an interesting problem to solve or a project to play with -- and there'll be no living with her if we don't at least pretend to play nice. So I accept your apology, and maybe next year I'll see why my cousin thinks you're worth her time." Her cat's tail lashed, and she reached up to rub behind its ears.

Ginny bit her tongue and carefully counted to ten. Then she said, "Fine. I haven't seen Apple or Colin since the platform but they probably got on at this door. If you haven't seen them, they must have gone that way." She pointed toward the front of the train.

"I'm pretty sure I saw some of your brothers back that way," said Daphne, gesturing over her shoulder toward the rear of the train. "That carrot hair stands out a bit."

"Does it? I hadn't noticed," said Ginny. "Thanks, though."

They smiled insincerely at each other and headed in opposite directions, their sleeves brushing as they passed. It was strange not to be wearing robes, Ginny thought, after a full school year getting used to the way they hung from her shoulders and swirled around her legs. They weren't half bad in the winter -- Hogwarts was too big and too old for warming charms to keep out all the drafts or even heat the floors very much, so an extra layer was nice. But now that summer had come, robes were hot and uncomfortable. And she never wore them at home anyhow.

It was weird to think she'd be home by suppertime. Back at the Burrow, eating with her parents around the same table as always, sleeping in her own bed in her own room like she had for eleven years. Like nothing had happened, like the past year hadn't touched or changed her at all.

Except she had changed. She wanted something to mark that.

Lost in thought, Ginny didn't notice a compartment door slide open until someone leapt out and snatched her off her feet.

"Gin-Gin!" cried Fred as he pulled her into the compartment like a reverse jack-in-the-box. 

"Gin and tonic!" said George, pushing her trunk in and maneuvering it up onto a shelf.

"Ginger beer!"

"Gingivitis!"

"I say, are you implying our favorite ickle Ginnykins is a form of mouth disease?" said Fred, interrupting the stream of idiotic nicknames. He dumped Ginny unceremoniously onto one of the bench seats and sat down beside her.

"I get carried away, you know how it is," said George with an indifferent shrug, dropping to sit on Ginny's left.

Across the compartment, Ron rolled his eyes, Hermione hid a giggle behind her hand, and Harry looked somewhere between alarmed and completely baffled. Ginny felt her face and ears burning red with utter mortification. She wanted to sink through the floor of the train.

"I hate you," she muttered, elbowing both of the twins.

"She doesn't mean it, of course," George assured Harry and Hermione. "She's under the pernicious influence of the Opposite Hex. Everything she says is the opposite of what she means. Fred and I will translate."

"Idiots," said Ginny, fondly.

"By this she means, 'Thank you, my genius brothers, for discerning my plight and lovingly lending your aid to me in my time of need,'" said Fred. Ginny elbowed him again. He patted her head and smiled.

"I am going to hex you," said Ginny.

"By that she means--" George started, but Harry interrupted.

"Could you hex me instead?" he asked.

Ginny stared blankly at him. The train whistle blew three long blasts. Through the window, she could see Hagrid stumping up and down the platform, hurrying stragglers aboard.

"I don't mean actually hex me," said Harry, looking slightly put out at everybody's stupefied expressions. "I just want to practice disarming charms while we're still allowed to use magic."

"A man after our own hearts," said George, "though your choice of method is barmy."

Now it was Harry turn to stare blankly. "What's barmy about being able to defend yourself?"

Ginny caught Ron's eyes and made the little combination of expression and gesture that meant 'distract the person talking, I have a plan.' Usually this meant distracting Percy or Mum, but if Ron hadn't forgotten...

He rolled his eyes at her but said, "Oi, let's not start mucking around with hexes until we're well away from the professors -- they'd probably dump extra summer work on us, and sod that. I have a better idea anyway. Do you two have any fireworks left?"

"Ron, I'm hurt that you have so little faith in us. Of course we have fireworks!" said Fred.

"Let's set them off as the train starts," said Ron.

The twins looked at each other over Ginny's head. Matching evil smiles spread across their freckled faces.

"Why didn't we think of that?" asked George.

"I've no idea," said Fred, "but who cares? Fetch the Filibusters!"

George pulled a bundle of fireworks from his trunk, Fred opened the window, and as the train puffed away from the station, they showed Ginny, Ron, and Harry how to set them off with a carefully aimed _Incendio_. Hermione refused to pitch in and did her best to look disapproving, but she didn't tell them to stop. Ginny figured that meant she secretly enjoyed the bang and flash as much as the rest of them.

Judging by the cheers audible over the roar and rattle of the train and the rush of the wind, the other students enjoyed the show. But all too soon they ran out, Fred shut the window, and they settled in for the long ride home.

They did practice disarming charms, as well as less purposeful magic -- transfiguring each other's buttons and shoelaces, levitating the snacks Harry and Hermione bought from the passing trolley, stacking their textbooks and making each one turn a different color -- but eventually Ron pulled out his deck of cards and they began a cutthroat Exploding Snap tournament. Hermione conceded early and sat in the corner attempting to read a supplementary history textbook, and Ron and Ginny jointly forced Fred out an hour later, which left three Weasleys and Harry in a neck-and-neck race until the train whistle sounded again and they realized they were almost at King's Cross.

"Who won?" asked Ron.

"Who cares?" said George.

"Harry and I tied," said Ginny, who had been keeping score on a piece of parchment. "It's fun to beat Ron at card games, isn't it?" She smiled at Harry.

He smiled back as he handed his stack of cards to Ron. "Yeah, especially after he wipes me out in chess every time."

"He wipes everyone out," said Ginny. "Even Percy, which annoys him because he's the one who taught Ron to play in the first place."

"Hang on, that reminds me," said Harry, leaning forward with an intent gleam in his eyes. "Ginny, what did you see Percy doing that he didn't want you to tell anyone?"

Ginny went blank for a moment. Harry was staring at her! In maybe a good way? What was she supposed to do? Oh, help. Then her mind made sense of his question and she remembered the horrible morning when Percy had accidentally stopped her from confessing about Tom. What had he-- oh, right, Penelope! And his horrible cologne, and sneaking around, and really, it was too silly to think of Percy being romantic.

"Oh, that," she said, not bothering to hide her amusement. "Well... Percy's got a _girlfriend_."

Fred dropped a stack of books on George's head.

" _What?_ "

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said Ginny. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was," -- Ginny hesitated for a moment, then pushed onward -- "you know, attacked." Stupid Tom. Why couldn't she get away from him?

"You won't tease him, will you?" she finished, doing her best impression of innocence. Whatever the twins did wouldn't be _her_ fault! This was not in any way, shape, or form any kind of revenge! Not in the slightest!

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, looking like his birthday had come early.

"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.

Hermione looked slightly anxious. Ginny caught her eye and mouthed, 'Opposite Hex.' Then she grinned. Really, anyone who'd believe she didn't know what the twins would do with that kind of blackmail was hopelessly naïve. She was a Weasley, for Merlin's sake!

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped. Ginny helped George lift her trunk down and began dragging it through the door; their compartment was at the end of the train car and if she hurried she could get onto the platform before everyone else clogged the corridor. Behind her, Harry was saying something about telephone numbers. Ginny remembered Xanthe's muddled explanations and wondered if she could work up the nerve to call him sometime during the summer, or at least to say hi after Ron and Mum got done talking Harry's ears off.

"I still say they ought to allow magic until we're back in the Muggle part of King's Cross," said Fred as he and George flanked Ginny. "Dragging trunks is such a pain."

"Mum will have a trolley," said Ginny. "She always does."

"It's the principle of the thing," said George. "Aha! There she is, and Dad, too. Hurry up, let her hug you before she explodes."

"Why am I the one who has to get squeezed half to death?" Ginny asked, but she dropped her trunk for the twins to deal with and jogged forward to let her parents envelop her. It wasn't as if she minded knowing they loved her.

She let Mum hold her hand as they crossed back into the Muggle world.

\---------------------------------------------

Her first days home were odd, even without counting the spectacular failure of Ron's attempt to use a public telephone in Ottery St. Catchpole to call Harry. Mum made Ginny's favorites at every meal and visibly bit her tongue to stop herself from yelling when Ginny accidentally broke a lamp, or refused to get out of bed the second morning, or did anything that would normally have earned a scolding. Dad didn't act so peculiar, but he was home a lot more than usual -- he'd taken half days at the Ministry and brought piles of paperwork to sort through in the kitchen instead of in his office. Her brothers weren't so obvious -- for one thing, they were distracted by the whole "Percy's secret girlfriend" mess -- but even they were acting suspiciously nice.

This often took the form of deliberately annoying her when she'd been quiet for a while, but even so. They were paying too much attention.

It wasn't bad, exactly, but Ginny felt a bit like she'd stumbled into some other Ginny Weasley's life instead of her own. Or maybe like she was stuck inside a muffling charm and couldn't make the world notice her the way it ought to. She tried to distract herself by starting on Professor Sprout's Herbology projects and even reading her brothers' old textbooks, but that only worked in patches.

On the third of July, two strange owls arrived: one from the _Daily Prophet_ (probably a bill) and one with a letter addressed to Ginny in Xanthe's looping, smudgy handwriting. The post owl flew away as soon as Mum tucked a Knut into its pouch, but Xanthe's owl snatched a piece of raw chicken from Mum's cutting board, gulped it down, and perched on the kitchen windowsill looking like it could wait until the end of the world for Ginny to write an answer.

Ginny took the envelope into the garden and tucked herself between the tomatoes and the fence where nobody could see her from the house. Then she unfolded the letter and began to read.

_Dear Ginny,_

_It's odd to be back in the Muggle world after so long at Hogwarts. Of course, it's not as if there's no magic at all in the house -- there's Mum's potions lab, and the Floo hookup, and so on -- but I keep expecting the photographs to move, and then they don't. Also Dad's making me study algebra, which is a kind of mathematics, to keep up the story that I'm at a normal public school instead of learning magic. I don't mind much, you know. It will make calculating star paths for astronomy much easier! (You'd hate it of course.)_

_I meant to ask you before we left Hogwarts, but would you like to visit me this summer? Caroline's visiting family in Ghana, but Anne might be able to come. I'd love to introduce you to Mum and Dad and show you around Stonybrook -- that's the Winterbourne family manor, where my grandfather lives. Mum and I spend summers with him. It's probably not as fun as your family's house, but I know Grandfather has books about Occlumency if you want to keep practicing that. And we have family pictures. I know there are some of my Aunt Rose from when she was at Hogwarts. There might even be one with Tom Riddle lurking around the edges._

_That probably doesn't make you want to visit, does it? But I think maybe it would help to see things from when he was a real person, not just an evil spell in a diary. If Riddle felt more like a person, it might be easier to realize he was a bully and a bastard and he forced you into doing what he wanted just like if he'd held you at wandpoint, you know?_

_Also Grandfather has gorgeous formal gardens. I bet you'd love them._

_Write back and tell me how you're doing!_

_Your friend,  
Xanthe_

Ginny folded the letter and stared at the tomato plants. They were getting tall, enough that Mum had already tied the stalks to the middle strand of twine strung between wooden stakes, but the tomatoes themselves were only tiny green dots, not even the size of her fingernail. Only the leaf shapes (and the fact that Mum planted tomatoes along the fence every year) identified them, and if you couldn't recognize those signs there was no clue that come autumn those tiny green lumps would swell to ten or twenty times their current size and turn brilliant orange-red.

Like she hadn't known Tom would turn out to be evil, even though there were clues that somebody else might have noticed.

Somebody smarter. Somebody less naïve. Somebody who didn't want to grab hold of any excuse to keep hating Daphne Rumluck, to think her housemates were idiots, to believe she had a friend who liked her for _her_ instead of just for finally being the hoped-for Weasley girl. Somebody who'd paid attention to Dad's warning about magical objects that could think for themselves.

Xanthe was right -- that wasn't all her fault. Tom was a bully and a liar. He had threatened her with magic. But she hadn't warned anyone else about him once she'd learned the truth. She hadn't given the diary to anybody who might have known a foolproof way to destroy it. People had suffered because of those choices.

They were her choices. Her failures. Her responsibility.

Xanthe couldn't argue them away from her.

Besides, Ginny knew perfectly well that Tom had been a person. He'd been her friend and then her enemy. She'd seen his face, heard his voice -- she could picture him clear as life if she closed her eyes and stopped trying to avoid thinking about him. A few old photographs wouldn't do anything about her real problems.

On the other hand, she wouldn't have to pretend she was fine around Xanthe, who probably wouldn't believe that anyhow. And a visit might be fun for other reasons too -- maybe they could practice flying and other things that were impossible with stupid overprotective brothers always hovering around. _If_ she could talk Mum and Dad into letting her out of their sight for more than five minutes at a time.

As if to prove how hard that would be, she looked up to see Ron skirting awkwardly around the aubergines. "Hey Ginny, don't spend all day out here. You'll turn into a tomato." At Ginny's sour look, he held up his hands as if to say it wasn't his idea to bother her. "Mum wants you to come in for a family meeting -- something about that _Daily Prophet_ owl -- and to tell her who your letter's from."

"Xanthe Delaflor. She's in Hufflepuff, you wouldn't know her," Ginny added in response to Ron's blank look.

"So not all of them believed Ernie Macmillan," Ron said, dropping to the ground beside her. "Ha. Better than I can say for our own house."

Ginny hit him with the folded letter. "Would you give over about that already? People are stupid, they jumped to conclusions, and it's not like I didn't give Riddle all the information he needed to do a good frame job. Besides, I know at least one Gryffindor who thought Harry being the Heir was a dumb idea."

"Really? Who?" asked Ron

Ginny didn't feel like explaining Apple, especially since that would lead on to talking about Daphne and Susan and all the ways she'd messed up at getting along with people. She hit Ron with the letter again. It seemed simpler. "None of your business. Anyhow, Xanthe's invited me to visit this summer. Her mum's a Winterbourne, so they have a manor and everything."

Ron shifted closer and scowled. "I dunno, do you really think that's a good idea? You know what some of the old pureblood families are like. What will she want in return?"

Since the letter obviously wasn't doing any good, Ginny punched her brother in the shoulder. "Don't be such a git. Xanthe's my friend; she wants to see me. It'd be like us having Harry over last summer, only without the kidnapping part."

Ron snorted. "So more like if we invited Hermione to visit, really." He pushed himself back to his feet and dusted his trousers, then offered a hand down toward Ginny. "Come on, let's get inside before Mum decides we need more chores to remind us who's boss around here."

Ginny hesitated a moment before taking his hand. "I am sorry I didn't tell you," she said. "About Riddle, I mean. I should have. You're my favorite brother, we've always done everything together. But I suppose..."

"I was always with Harry and Hermione?" Ron finished as he helped her to her feet. "Yeah, that's how the world goes, isn't it? S'not like the twins had much time for me my first year, nor Percy for them I bet. Probably not Bill and Charlie either." He kicked idly at a passing gnome, which squeaked and scuttled into the courgette patch. "You should go visit this Xanthe of yours, even if she is a Winterbourne. Good friends are worth-- they're worth a lot."

"Yeah. They are," said Ginny. She turned to face Ron, walking backward along the path. "So hey, d'you know what the _Daily Prophet_ thing's about?"

Ron shrugged. "Not a bloody clue -- Mum wouldn't say until everyone's in the kitchen. But she didn't seem pissed off so it's probably good news."

"Like what, free newspapers for a year?"

"Dunno," said Ron with another shrug. Then he grinned. "Ha, I tell you what -- maybe Dad won that lottery drawing Mum was yelling about last week."

"Us, win lotteries? Never happen," said Ginny, turning just before she backed into the kitchen door. She pressed her ear to the wood for a moment, but either nobody was talking or someone had put up a privacy charm. Toad guts.

"You never know. Weirder things have happened! They've even happened this very year, and we're due a bit of good luck," said Ron. "Now come on, turn the knob and let's get inside before Mum has kittens."

He slung his arm over Ginny's shoulders in a companionable hug, and they walked through the door together.


	16. Epilogue: Isis Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: The Weasleys in Egypt, summer of 1993.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ginny glanced up from her seat in Bill's cramped office, where she'd been paging idly through one of his books on curse-breaking while waiting for the _Daily Prophet_ photographer to show up. The rest of their family were taking the two-Knut tour of Gringotts' Alexandrian branch -- it sounded cool, with lots of tunnels and curses and guardian beasts -- but Mum had already made her stay out of one tomb yesterday and if she just begged off, it was easier to pretend that Mum still didn't think of her as fragile and helpless.

Besides, Bill had a really comfortable chair.

"Talk about what?" she asked.

Bill shrugged and ambled into his office, leaving the doorway clear for Charlie to lounge against the stone frame. "Anything, really. Obviously we'd like to hear your version of what happened, and that you're getting better, but it's not like me and Charlie haven't had our own piles of shit to climb out of -- some of them our own fault, too -- so we know sometimes the last thing you want to do is dredge everything up again. We just wanted to say that if you do want to talk, we'll listen."

"We can't promise we won't get upset," added Charlie. He pulled one hand from his jacket pocket and gestured abstractly. "You're our baby sister, of course we want you to be safe and happy. But we won't smother you."

"Mum does enough of that for all of us," Bill agreed, tapping his fang earring with a wry smile. "So. Do you want to talk about it?"

Ginny looked down at the curse-breaking book, tracing a finger along the lines and knots of a carefully illustrated runic diagram. She thought she'd been doing a better job of acting like she was completely over Tom and the basilisk and the Chamber. Of course, Bill and Charlie hadn't seen her since last summer, so any changes probably jumped out at them. Or maybe it was just harder to act normal without the Burrow and its routines to remind her what normal had been.

She didn't want her family to worry. But if Bill and Charlie were already worried, would pretending actually fix anything? And she had felt better after she shouted at Xanthe that one time...

"Maybe I should," she said.

"Only if you want to. Don't push too hard. Pain's how the world tells you to slow down and stop being a bloody nitwit, so if you get too uncomfortable..." said Charlie, but he moved into the tiny office as well and closed the door behind himself. "D'you want me to put up a silencing charm?"

"Don't bother, there's one built in. Goblins take privacy rights dead seriously, and some curses affect anyone who hears the words, so it's a safety requirement. I'll just lock the door," said Bill. He aimed his wand at the door and muttered an incantation under his breath. The knob sparked red and the air in the office turned muffled and thick as if a giant pair of earmuffs had wrapped around the room. After a moment, the sensation cleared.

"Voila!" Bill swept his arms out, fingertips brushing the stone wall on one side and his bookcase on the other. "Have no fear, Ginevra Weasley! Your secrets are safe with us -- nobody will overhear and we promise not to tell Mum or Dad unless you say otherwise."

Ginny bit her lip and kept tracing the runic diagram. Paper and ink slid smooth under her finger, picking up faint wisps of heat from friction and the temperature of her skin. "I have been getting better. Honestly. I've been trying to sort things out and I think getting away from Hogwarts helped. But it's been weird these past few days -- since we got to Egypt."

"Oh?" said Charlie.

"It's not home. I think anywhere different would feel weird. But it's especially weird to be in Egypt," Ginny explained. "Riddle talked about Egypt a couple times. About curses, even. He said they were... I don't remember exactly, marvelous and subtle? He told me an old story about Isis he'd read somewhere. That was at Christmas. He said it could be my present, since he couldn't give me anything solid."

"Not a bad idea for a gift -- cheap _and_ personalized," said Charlie. "I should remember that."

Ginny nodded, still not looking up. "That's the thing, see? He was-- Riddle was--" She choked on the words, unwilling to keep up even that last lie. She was going to tell the truth. No more lies. Not here, not now.

"No," she said, and then again, stronger, "No, that's wrong. I didn't call him Riddle. I've been trying to when I talk about him, but it's a lie. I called him _Tom_ , because he was my friend. He was good at being my friend. He listened to me. He gave me advice -- I figured out later that a lot of it was-- was twisted, just a bit, to keep me depending on him, but a lot of it was right, too. He told me stories and jokes. He laughed when I needed him to. He used to teach me bits of advanced magic -- like you did, both of you, before you left home."

She tilted her hand, tracing with the very tip of her finger instead of the flat pad. "He reminded me of you, a little. I even told him that, said that I thought of him as a brother, that he didn't have to feel alone. I trusted him. And all along, he was lying. Everything he did, even the good parts, was just for show until he could kill me."

"He needed a life to get out of the diary. I would've given him half of mine for free, if he'd just asked. But he never even tried. He never cared at all. And I just-- I can't--" She paused, drew a ragged breath. "He was my best friend, and he only ever saw me as a tool. And then Dumbledore said Tom grew up to be... to be _You-Know-Who_ , and I can't make it make sense. Tom was horrible, but he was still a person. How does a person turn into a monster? How does a person stop seeing people as people? When did he go wrong? Was there anything I could've done to make him see me and turn around, and maybe even--"

The runic diagram sparked under her finger. Ginny yanked her hand back and slammed the book shut. Wand, wand, oh toad guts, where was her wand?

Bill grabbed the book off the desk before Ginny had even blinked, flipping open to where sparks still skittered around the diagram like multicolored lightning. " _Finite, quiesce, dormi_ ," he muttered, running the flat of his palm down the page. A curl of white smoke rose from the paper as the sparks died.

"That was different," said Charlie, lowering his wand and leaning back against the door frame. "I thought only curses activated spontaneously."

Bill shrugged as he set the book down and dusted his hand on his trousers. "Depends on the layout of the runes -- some containment traps can go off if you think at them too loudly. It's not usually a problem because most people don't expect ink on a page to do much besides sit there. Curses and traps have a lot to do with intent."

"I keep expecting books to write back to me," Ginny admitted, prodding gingerly at the singed page with her fingernail. "And talking about Tom..."

"The tracing did most of it," said Bill. "But yeah, if you expect runes to be active, you're a lot more likely to feed magic into them subconsciously. Mum says that the memory construct in the diary forced an open link with you for months on end, so you're used to shaping your own magic into that pattern when you read or write."

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Ginny muttered.

Bill reached across his desk and ruffled her hair. "Hey now, none of that. I can't activate runes without using the right incantation and I do this stuff for a living."

"Why not think of it as a party trick?" Charlie suggested. "Or another bit of advanced magic that the construct--"

" _Tom_ ," Ginny insisted as she finger-combed her hair back into order. "He was a person and his name was Tom."

"--that that lying bastard taught you," Charlie corrected.

Ginny scowled. "That's not any better!"

Charlie scowled right back. "Maybe your Tom was a person, but that doesn't win him any points with me. You can call him whatever you want, but he came damn close to killing you and I'm not going to pretend he didn't. That's going too far!"

Bill cleared his throat pointedly. Charlie closed his mouth abruptly with a click of teeth. Then he took a deep breath and raked his hands through his hair. "I'm angry at him, Ginny, not at you. I guess we've all got a bit of Mum's temper when you get down to it, though. Sorry for shouting."

Ginny shrugged. "It's all right."

Charlie sighed. "It isn't really, but thanks. Erm. The point I was trying to make is that Riddle was your friend under false pretenses, but like you said, he had to act like a real friend in order to make that lie convincing. Why not take the useful things he taught you and make them your own? You won, he lost -- it's all spoils of war, more or less."

"Maybe," Ginny said.

"It's your choice. We won't push," Bill promised. He sat sideways on his desk, left leg braced against the floor and right ankle crossed over his left knee. "I'd rather not talk about runes and curses anyway -- I do enough of that for my job. What I want to know is which legend that arsehole told you. I'm the one who's meant to have a monopoly on telling creepy mummy stories to my titchy ickle siblings. I cry foul!"

"It wasn't a creepy story," Ginny said, gratefully seizing the change of topic. "It was about, er, Isis and Osiris and how she brought him back from the dead after his brother killed him, twice. Only the second time the spell only worked halfway because she couldn't find all the pieces -- the brother, er, Set? Yeah, Set -- he'd cut Osiris up and tossed all the bits into the Nile. So Osiris ended up king of the dead, but I think it turned out all right anyhow. Erm." She bit her lip, searching for the cadence of Tom's words. "Yeah, Isis had a kid, and when he grew up he killed Set. I think Isis helped. Then she became the goddess of something or other, the end."

Charlie snorted. "Not a creepy story, she says. Because people cut into pieces and coming back from the dead isn't creepy at all. Right."

"Especially when told by a magical construct that wants to drink your soul to bring himself to life," Bill added.

Ginny threw herself backward in Bill's chair, arms folded defensively across her chest. "Okay, when you put it that way, it sounds awful. But that doesn't mean the story is creepy, just that Tom was being a toad-licking slimebucket. Isis is still awesome. She saved her husband and her son, she did all kinds of cool magic, and she beat the villain. _Twice_."

"Fair point. Isis kicked arse. Did you know she's the patron goddess of magic, and specifically of binding and unbinding spells?" said Bill. "Her priests used to work with string and knots, but that got turned into diagrams at some point and we still use a bunch of those spells in curse-breaking today. So yeah, awesome." He grinned. "Sounds a bit like someone I know, come to think of it."

"Yeah, yeah, Mum could boss around moldy old gods any day," Ginny grumbled.

Bill ruffled her hair again, despite her attempt to duck and bat his hands away. "I didn't mean Mum, Gingersnap. I meant you."

"But--"

Bill flicked his finger against Ginny's ear, interrupting her protest. "Seriously, quit that. Sure you could've done some things better -- like asking for help, there's no way our idiot brothers wouldn't have pitched in -- but you fought that bastard for months and you came _damn_ close to beating him. There is no way that doesn't count as awesome. And before that, you were trying to help a friend -- also awesome. Don't beat yourself up over what you did wrong. We all screw up--"

"--don't we ever--" said Charlie.

"--yeah, me and Charlie could tell you stories for _days_ about all our fuckups," Bill agreed. "The point is to learn from your mistakes, not dwell on them forever. Then the next time you get into a mess, you can make exciting new mistakes instead of repeating the old ones forever!"

He threw up his arms in a cheesy victory pose.

Charlie snickered. After a second, Ginny joined him. Bill tipped an imaginary hat to each of them in turn.

"So what d'you say? Feel any better? Or would you rather we back off and let time do its thing?" asked Charlie.

Ginny bit her lip, considering. "Maybe a _little_ better." It was good to talk about Tom being her friend as well as her enemy, and how that kept tangling her thoughts. But people saying she'd done a good job didn't magically make that true. "I still think that if Harry had found the diary--"

"He did, though -- don't you remember?" said Charlie. "Mum said that Harry said he found it after you tried to destroy Riddle the first time, and Riddle fooled him exactly like he fooled you. Yeah, he didn't keep writing in it, but that's only because his friends distracted him. I bet if you hadn't stolen the diary back, Riddle would've got his claws into Harry sooner or later."

Ginny shook her head. "But Ron and Hermione--"

"Exactly," said Bill. "That's the only difference, see? You were alone. Harry wasn't. That's all. Even without anyone to notice you were in trouble -- speaking of which I, for one, am seriously pissed off at our little brothers for falling down on their job -- you still figured out Riddle was evil and kept fighting. Like I said, awesome."

Ginny grimaced. But she hadn't been alone. Everything she'd done alone, she'd screwed up. The only parts that had gone right were because of other people's help -- Xanthe had given her the key to figure out Tom was a liar, and Professor Sprout had given her the pass into the Restricted Section. All she'd done on her own was get possessed, over and over.

She said as much, awkwardly.

Bill listened solemnly, then asked: "Do you know how hard it is to resist possession?"

Ginny shrugged. "It's got to be easy if you can recognize a shady enchanted object, right?"

"Dad's been on your case about checking where they keep their brains, has he?" said Charlie. "I think he forgets we don't work with illegally enchanted objects all day. Ron didn't spot that the diary was hiding its brain, did he? Neither did Hermione, and Ron says she's mad about research and extra reading."

"And wizards can work possessions directly, without physical constructs. The point is, once some bastard has his hooks in your mind, it's damn near impossible to undo the link, and only a tiny bit less impossible to block it," said Bill. "Occlumency's advanced and restricted for a reason. Most people don't have the focus for it. You had help finding the right books, but you're the one who made the magic work."

"Also, Harry may be the one who killed Riddle and the basilisk, but the way I heard the story, he would've died if Fawkes and the Sorting Hat hadn't pitched in," Charlie added. "Lone heroes are dramatic, but they're for kiddie stories, not real life. For example, I work with dragons all day, right? Would you say I'm brave?"

"Yes," said Ginny.

"We never approach a dragon alone. We work in pairs at the minimum. Groups of four is better. Does that make me any less brave?"

"No."

"There you are, then," Charlie said with satisfaction. "If I'm brave and Harry was brave, then you were brave too. Also rash and inexperienced, but those are fixable. Look, pretend you went up against a rogue dragon on your own. Yeah, you got scorched pretty bad and the house you were trying to protect burned down, but you got the family out safe and next time you'll remember to call for backup _before_ you rush in. Got it?"

"Or pretend you got lured into a newly discovered tomb and hit with a Confundus Charm so you didn't remember you had a team waiting back at camp to help you and tried to chase the thieves on your own for hours until someone realized you were missing," Bill suggested. "That happened to me my first year on the job. Like I said, we all screw up." He grabbed a paperclip from his desk and tossed it at Charlie. "I bet you ten Knuts Charlie picked his example from real life too."

Charlie grinned, a bit sheepishly. "You caught me. Basescu chewed me out up one side and down the other, docked my pay for a fortnight, and set me on dung-collecting duty for a month. Then she clapped me on the back and said, 'We all start out young, stupid, and crazy. The trick is learning to be clever and living to be old. I'm afraid crazy is incurable.'"

"Clutchgear swore in Gobbledegook instead of Romanian and I got artifact cataloguing duty instead of dragon shit, but it boiled down to about the same," said Bill. "Now we've moved on to new and improved mistakes! You see? You screwed up, sure. You made some bad choices in a tight spot and wish you'd done things differently. That doesn't make you a coward or a failure. It just makes you human. We've all been there, one way or another."

Ginny tried to picture her two oldest brothers screwing up that dramatically. She couldn't see it. They'd always been bigger and stronger, always been able to answer all her questions. They'd known exactly what they wanted to do with their lives, and then gone out and made those things happen. They'd stood up to Mum and Dad and done things their own ways. She hadn't ever thought they could make _real_ mistakes, not ones that counted.

Except apparently they had. And it hadn't been the end of the world, either.

"I definitely won't make the same mistakes again," she said. "I'll be more careful which people and stories I trust, and next time I get in trouble, I'll make sure to find help. But I still think I should've done better this time."

Bill shrugged. "One step at a time. Just promise us you'll think about it, okay?"

"I will," said Ginny.

"Great," said Charlie. He glanced down at his watch. "Hey, Bill, how good are the silencing charms on this room? I think the photographer was supposed to meet us ten minutes ago -- is there a chance Mum's standing outside the door getting ready to explode?"

Bill winced. "Ah. Maybe? There's an internal bank communication system, but none of you have clearance to use it, so..."

Bill and Charlie stared at each other, then at the door, then back at each other as if silently arguing over who should sacrifice himself to Mum's potential fury. Ginny sighed. Then she strode across the tiny office and nudged Charlie out of the way.

"I take it back, neither of you is brave at all," she said. "Unlock the door. If Mum's there, I'll deal with her -- she's still trying not to upset me."

"Our knight in shining armor!" said Bill. He pointed his wand at the doorknob, muttering something in Gobbledegook until it sparked blue. "Get her around the corner and we'll sneak out the other direction and round up the rest of the family in case you need a rescue."

"Who says we won't have to rescue them first? Ten Knuts says the twins tried to steal from one of the vaults and Dad pissed off the goblins trying to make them explain how they integrate Muggle technology into their craftwork," said Charlie.

"Another ten says Ron lost his mangy old rat down in the tunnels," Bill shot back. "What do he and Percy see in that creature anyway? It can't carry letters like an owl and it's not useful for spell enhancement like a cat. All it does is sleep and squeak."

"Hey now, rats are very intelligent animals--" Charlie began, taking up the well-worn argument with cheerful verve.

Ginny tuned her brothers' bickering out with the ease of long practice. She knew perfectly well they were exaggerating their fear of Mum and dragging out old family jokes to distract her. That didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the effort. Even if she didn't agree that she'd done the best she could with Tom and the basilisk, she could be glad her brothers believed in her. She could do her best to live up to the person they thought she could become. A princess didn't need to wait for a knight to save her from a dragon or a tower; she could meet her rescuers halfway. She could be her own knight, her own hero. She could be Isis and save others in turn.

"Next time, I'll get it right," Ginny whispered to herself.

She opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, I'm done. It took me eleven years and change, but I damn well got there in the end. Promise made, promise kept.
> 
> I would like to thank the various wonderful people who have helped me with this story over the years. My childhood friend Cat (aka Quetzle) beta-read chapters 1-10 and chapters 12-13, though she has never been part of fandom; she also gave excellent Latin advice. Miss Cora took pity on me in the beta-seekers' thread at FictionAlleyPark and beta'ed chapters 1-8 with a steady hand. The amazing Lasair beta'ed chapters 2-13, gave more Latin advice, and greatly improved a bunch of my other HP fic while she was at it. Vicky (my beloved little sister) looked over chapter 9 and made helpful comments when I was feeling particularly insecure. Lynati and Helena beta'ed chapter 14 when I returned to this story after a long hiatus. OldFashionedGirl and nnozomi beta'ed chapter 15 and the epilogue after another long hiatus. And lastly, songsmith, animus_wyrmis, and via_ostiense gave invaluable Latin advice for the epilogue.
> 
> All remaining canon goofs, grammar mistakes, continuity errors, implausible characterizations, bad dialogue, boring passages, Americanisms, and other flaws are entirely my fault, not theirs.


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